


i know the score like the back of my hand

by ghostbusters



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Getting Together, Humor, Las Vegas, M/M, excessive conversations about britney spears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-08 20:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbusters/pseuds/ghostbusters
Summary: “So, listen,” Kent started, leaning up on his tiptoes to speak clearly into the guy’s ear. “If you play along as my date for like, I don't know, a little while, I’ll literally give you a thousand dollars. No exaggeration. I’m rich as shit so I’m good for it. And please don’t punch me."Desperate plans after running into your ex. Stupid amounts of vodka. A quest to get into a secret Britney Spears event. Gambling. A Vegas chapel wedding. Unspeakable things done in the backseat of a limo! The Bellagio Fountains! Elvis! The bright lights and captivating sights surround a group of hockey players who never thought they'd ever take on the City of Sin together. It's a love letter to Vegas, a reference to a really bad teen indie flick, and Kent Parson's journey to party with his pop princess idol.





	1. don't threaten him with a good time

**Author's Note:**

> vaguely inspired by 'nick + norah's infinite playlist', one of the WORST movies i've ever seen. this fic has been insanely fun to write and it progressively gets more and more obnoxious as the chapters pass. i drank a LOT of wine while writing the first few chapters and i really hope that shows. oh and I started this before the ending of year 3 so, that's not relevant here. fic title comes from 'the man' by the killers
> 
> parse + tater's limited playlist: [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/theghostbusters/playlist/781I61tZGFBVHedAWHj9dj)  
> send me your favorite parse or patater playlists!!

The Ace’s top line were throwing back shots at the Cosmo to celebrate a home win when Kent’s world tilted to a stop. This unfortunate phenomena had been happening more often than he’d like ever since Jack Zimmermann re-entered the world of professional hockey. And, by association, stepped right back into his life as a side effect to a wish half-fulfilled.

Before any paths crossed and things fell apart, he drank. It was routine, the standard ritual whether recording a win or a loss. Kent was restless. Nifty called for yet another round of tequila shots and Kent ditched, deciding to do a lap and check out the scene. He left his wings to corrupt the rookies who'd been smuggled into the club -- he was taking no responsibility for that maneuver. Maybe someone would catch his eye as he wandered; he was riding the high of a game won on a lucky goal two minutes and seven into overtime. There was still something to be said for the lingering jolts of adrenaline.

The limes and salt and all the work of getting trashed grew tiring, not the sort of work that interested him at the moment. He hadn’t picked up in a while, though – he deserved a reward for all his hard work. It was a moderately slow Wednesday on the Strip in the sort of club where he could flit by anonymously. Kent had fire in his veins and a confident charm as smooth as fresh ice after intermission. God, he loved this city. Loved how it made him forget his flaws and troubles and charge onwards, ready for anything.  
  
The Marquee club grew more crowded further from the bar, where people were drawn to the in-house DJ pumping out jams that hypnotized and kept them moving. Kent slipped through the press of bodies nearest the dance floor while glancing around, hoping someone would strike him. He had a tested and true plan. They’d dance, share a few drinks on his dime, and then he’d book them a room right there at the Cosmo – reel in some out-of-towner tourist type who hopefully didn’t know shit about hockey and only had an interest in one of Vegas’s many beautiful faces.  
  
It was such a simple plan, but Jack-fucking-Zimmermann had to slink by and wipe the cocky smirk right off his face.

  
“Zimms?” he blurted out, on instinct more than anything, before his brain fully processed the sight.  
  
Called out by that ghost of a nickname, he froze, clearly uncomfortable. His body language was undeniable. It was that of a man who clearly hadn’t planned on being seen. The run-in was unexpected, but plans could always be adjusted. Was this a gift or a curse? Kent smiled, strained and almost hysterical in forced composure. Jack didn’t smile back.  
  
“Hey. Uh, good game tonight,” Kent said, playing it neutral while choking down the hundred other things he wanted to say to the guy. He tacked on a neutral opener, guiding the conversation into Jack’s wheelhouse. “That sniper in the third was ridiculous, man. Too bad though. Solid game. Enjoying Vegas?”  
  
He looked so much different sulking in the lights of a nightclub and not under the harsh fluorescent of a rink or the flat brightness of a locker room interview. Or any of the other places Kent kept safe in rose-tinted memory.  
  
Jack opened and closed his mouth, eyes shifting around the club. Not taking the bait to talk hockey, he deflected.

“I… didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Kent could say the exact same thing to Jack, though the entire situation was heavy with the air of cliche and sentiments that _of course this was happening._ How convenient.

  
“ _Well_. It is Vegas. I do live here. Odds were high. Better odds than some machine games, to be honest…”

  
“It’s a big city,” he spat out quick before frowning and reverting to stiff awkwardness. “Bits, uh, a friend told me this place was more, uh, for the tourist scene. Too popular for-”  
  
“Safe, you mean. From me.” No use letting him pretend.

Jack rolled his eyes. At least it was a reaction.

“C'mon, man. Thought we were past this. You don’t have to lie to me. I’m fine. I can handle it.” Kent didn’t want to but he offered,  “Or I can get lost if that’s what you want.”  
  
“I just meant… safe from getting recognized by anyone. Not just...” He sighed. “It’s nice to see you, Kent. Off the ice. I’m not lying.”  
  
_Then you wouldn’t have had to say you weren’t lying out loud_ , Kent thought. _I get we’re not best friends but you’d think after a year in the league he could at least stand to be in the same fucking room as me?_

“Is it nice, though? Coulda fooled me.”  
  
Jack’s mouth was a tense, straight line. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the revolving lights above. Boy, this was awkward.  
  
The guy looked so out of place and Kent desperately wanted to save him, to rescue him from himself. Despite the stilted vibe, Jack looked good in the cool toned lighting of the club. Too good. He hadn’t run way yet despite their less than positive interaction and to Kent – he could work with that. Chances of talking alone were so rare. Progress. Some (not much), but _some_ of their old shit had been worked through over the past season, now that the old dynamic duo were back on the ice together -- albeit in a different capacity. Small doses. They’d come to the conclusion that _yes_ , there was room enough for both of them in the game and they could converse without spitting out words intended to cut to the core. There’d been some cheesy publicity shit and the All-Star game during Jack’s second season that forced these new cordial attitudes. Third one’s the charm, Kent surely hoped.

All of it was far from closure, but it was something. Kent smiled softly at Jack’s continued weirdness (him now mumbling something about the club or the music or whatever – Kent could barely hear him but nodded along all the same) and settled on a new mission. It was time to attempt patience and see how long he could get Jack to stick around. This was such a promising chance to try again. Try for _what_ \- he didn’t fully know. But Jack was there and he hadn’t fled yet. Hope. Kent had been good. He deserved this.  
  
Tonight he was already halfway to drunk with the promise of old temptations flaring bright, like an oasis in the desert. And hey! Guess where Vegas was smack dab in the middle of? This was the Cosmo and not the Mirage, after all.  
  
The quick mental shift spurred Kent into action. This was his town. This was the boy who’d haunted him for years, standing agreeably and on speaking terms in front of him. Amp up the charm, don’t push too quickly. Don’t resort to the same shit he’d pulled all the years before Jack entered the league. Things had changed and they were going to change even more, he was so confidently sure.

Jack would see what was best for him at the end of the night -whether it be a renewed friendship or something _more_. He’d been waiting for a chance like this for literal years and he knew what he wanted. Winning was what he did best. So, he asked Jack if he wanted a drink and delightedly led the way to the bar when he agreed. Kent even dared to sling an arm around his shoulders and laugh a little louder at his own stupid comments as Jack followed like a child lost in the big loud underworld of Sin City. Fuckin’ score.  
  
Being that there were multiple bars in the Marquee, Kent smartly avoided the one where his fellow Aces were probably continuing to drink themselves stupid on top shelf tequila. Jack had mentioned not wanting to be seen (forever drowning in his fear of literally any publicity, Kent assumed). Any shreds of remaining better judgment vacated, as a giddiness overcame Kent at the sound of Jack’s gentle laughter over something or another as they made their way over to the bar.  
  
Zimms was there – he was there in Vegas and warm under his arm and honestly going to have a drink with him. It felt as good as dragging the man directly into bed and shit - wasn’t that a dangerous train of thought? No, it _had_ to be a sure thing. Jack actually sought him out. Totally what had happened. Kenny and Zimms, together again.  
  
It was as if the initial mood of their encounter not ten minutes earlier had never happened and instead, Jack had simply slid up to Kent on the dance floor and winked.  
  
“It’s a great fucking night, ain’t it Zimms?” Kent called over the noisy crowd, throwing a leering, toothy grin at Jack. His face was literally right next to his, so close. Close enough to...  
  
“Uh, sure. I guess. Interesting place,” he said and turned away, sounding as if he was currently anywhere but a bouncing Las Vegas casino club.  
  
Jack scanned the thinning crowds as they distanced themselves further away from the dance floor, acting slightly anxious as they wandered. Kent figured he’d chill once he got a drink in him. Or at least just stood in one place. Maybe then he could ease into suggesting a relocation to a quieter, less jammed place where they could really _talk_ …  
  
Kent turned again for the physical confirmation that Jack was really there with him and not some drunken fever ghost his mind was conjuring to taunt. Pinch him, please. So much had changed, finally, after years of either silence or conflict. Progress, progress, progress – that tired phrase he kept repeating. Ah, time to work his magic now that they’d reached the bar. And – he stopped and swiftly wrenched away. Where was Jack going?  
  
He’d stopped a few feet behind and Kent felt the floor bottom out, world tilted again. Like he’d tripped and then immediately gotten slapped in the face for good measure.  
  
Some tiny as hell blond guy (looked like a _boy_ , really) had latched onto Jack with excitable, rapid-fire words and swirling gestures filling their little bubble in the club. He looked too fucking young to have any business being there. Kent felt a burning sort of feeling rise, an unpleasant departure from his delusion fueled joy. It was a sudden, swift death in the form of the disgustingly smitten look splashed across Jack’s face. No. That was supposed to be directed at him. Fuck this.  
  
The kid caught sight of him and nudged Jack’s side. Sheepishly, Jack walked over, blondie in tow along with the first truly genuine smile Kent had personally seen on his face in nearly a decade. He felt sick. He knew what the fuck was about to happen.  
  
“Hey. Sorry. Got caught up for a bit. Ha, actually. This is Bits, uh, Bitty. Eric! My, uh. Well,” he shrugged, “you get it.”  
  
With happy anticipation, Jack glanced between the two, still with that stupid dopey expression. He placed a hand on the guy’s shoulder, dragging him closer into the one-sided conversation.  
  
“This is Kent Parson. I know you know who he is, Bits, of course but, you know. Formal introductions, finally…”  
  
The kid’s smile was all teeth and no warmth.  
  
“We’ve met, actually,” he said to Kent and honest to god initiated a handshake, quick and diplomatic. “At that kegster where you… stopped by. A few years back? At Samwell?”  
  
Yeah. Kent remembered. Fucking _Samwell_. How could he forget the faces he passed that night, staring at him on one of his lowest. _Why_ was the kid even there? Who brought their significant other on a fucking roadie? A little ridiculous, there, Jackie boy. _Co-dependent, much?_

He mimicked the kid’s icy smile and fought down the monster churning inside. Really, he should have stayed at the bar with the guys instead of trapping himself in this shitshow. He really did not want to be there anymore; he was liable to say something he'd regret.

  
“Yup,” he droned, popping the word needlessly. “I remember.”

“Jack’s told me a _bunch_ about you and having watched you play for years, goodness it’s _strange_ meeting you here of all places.”

The initial swooping sensation at the thought that Jack had talked about him swiftly fell into the realization that… _Jack had talked about him_. That didn’t sit well, however inevitable the fact of the matter was. It wasn’t as pleasant a revelation as he’d have liked. Dread. Discomfort. Envy. He was losing control of the situation.

“Cool. That’s… so great. Soooo. _Jack_. How long? Are you guys, like, _together_ together? You two make a real great couple,” he mocked in his snottiest valley girl impression. Jack coughed immediately, head darting around as if the entire Deadspin staff were hiding in the rafters ready for the sports scoop of the year. 

Kent cupped a hand near his mouth and stage whispered, "Seems someone has a type." He winked directly at Jack. Like a total dick.   
  
Eric tensed and instinctively moved away from Jack, stiff under Kent’s gaze, frozen once more. Shit. Instant guilt washed over Kent. What was he doing? He needed to leave before the damage was irreversible, but the word vomit wouldn’t stop.  
  
“Hey. Don’t worry. If anyone's gonna get noticed, it'll be me. Go ahead and do whatever the fuck y'all want,” he drawled and flippantly wove a hand at them in some pale impression, making Eric huff and indignantly put hands on hips. “You’re not interesting enough here, anyway.”

“Kent. Enough.” Jack rubbed a hand across his brow.  
  
“What? It’s fine. Everyone’s too busy getting loaded and trying to find someone to fuck to pay attention to some east coast player and his boy toy. You can chill.” He threw on at the end, “Sorry.”

  
“It’s not that easy,” Jack said, slow and tense. “You know that.”

  
Kent chuckled, “Believe me, I _know_. But I know where it's safe to be invisible. Been here since the game and no one’s asked for a fuckin’ autograph or took a picture, we’re good. This place is shitty enough to be chill.”

  
A step far beyond facetious, but no less true. Now, getting recognized while jogging the Strip, or shopping at the Fountain, or ordering at some random Starbucks… well, anywhere else (where the majority wasn’t tourists hopped up on blaring bass and alcohol and whatever else was getting passed around in the dark) was an entirely different story, but Kent was desperately trying to save his ass and reassure those he cruelly frightened. He’d played it safe for years and knew where to cover his tracks and fly under the radar, blend in. No one was paying attention tonight in the Marquee. Hiding in plain sight was an art. He’d had years of pained and tested practice.

That didn’t make things right. Danger was never absent. He knew better, but Jack kind of had this effect on him where his brain shut off and stupid animal instinct took over.

  
“Breathe, honey. He’s… probably right. What he’s sayin’ is pretty much why we ventured in this place. We’ll be ok. A lil’ bit more _hush_ , a lil’ more _tact_ , mind you, but I don’t want to spend my evening at an arm's length like some god forsaken middle school dance, hmm?”  
  
He patted Jack’s arm and gave his boy a warm smile. Clearly, the guy was pissed. Whether he was going to actually break character from that polite facade wasn’t clear yet, but he had to be straining himself at that point. Jack visibly deflated, his tension ebbing at Eric’s touch.  
  
“Alright, Bits. We should probably get back to the guys,” Jack added with a note of finality.  
  
Shit. No. Despite fucking everything up royally, Kent still wanted to talk to Jack, spend time with him, even with that little buzzkill third wheel. Maybe this Eric guy would get bored or annoyed and give them some time alone. Or not, he’d take what he could. First, he needed to fix his newest disaster. Just when everything was going so well…  
  
“Don’t go yet! We still need to get that drink, right? Despite me being an _utter asshole_ ,” Kent drew out, really driving home the point, “I def just wanted to catch up, man. How often are we in the same town? And civil! C’mon.”  
  
Kent gave him a wink and Bitty honest to god rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. He mouthed the word _civil_ and shook his head.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Shit. The biggest foot in mouth ever and Kent was floundering, glancing around desperately as if a rewind button on reality was flashing on a wall, waiting for him to press it and take the moment back about half an hour, back to his teammates, when his only concern was how much tequila it would take for him to convince Swoops to let him do shots off his abs again. _That was a fun night._ No. _Focus_.

  
After a moment’s brief panic, Kent found his solution. There. At the bar. It might be batshit enough to work.  
  
“Listen. I’m sorry, really. Out of line. Didn’t mean anything by it. You know my sense of humor is shit at the best of times, Zimms. We’re good, though. Really. You got nothing to hide here.”  
  
“I’ll leave the discretion up to us. We really should be going.” Eric grew increasingly impatient.  
  
Kent glanced back at the bar again, taking stock of the few guys pressed up against the paneling, fighting to get drinks from a bartender so much more interested in chatting up a pair of girls wearing bachelorette sashes across their skimpy dresses. Yeah. That’ll work. Absolutely. People don’t change that much and Kent knew Jack so deeply, even if the guy himself would never admit it. He’d either find Kent’s plan an act of confident ease or he’d be thrown into a fit of jealousy. Either way, he had to try something.

  
“No, no. Guys, it’ll be fine. I don’t want to third wheel you two so let me bring my boyfriend over, you’ll see it’s totally fine. No one cares…”  
  
“What? Your _what_?”  
  
“Jack, don’t let me say ‘I told you so.’ That would be rude as fuck.”  
  
He’d show them both. Flawless plan.  
  
With all the confidence of someone whose name was eternally engraved on a silver symbol of victory, he slid up to the bar, palling up to a very tall, very broad guy struggling to flag the bartender. From his outrageously styled jacket and the way his head was bobbing along to a very outdated Lady Gaga remix blaring overhead, he possessed an air of promise that _maybe_ he’d play along. How someone could tell all that from a cursory glance from the back was beyond logic, but Kent figured that a _stupid_ amount of money was a fine backup method of persuasion. This was Vegas. Everyone had a price.  
  
“So, listen,” Kent started, leaning up on his tiptoes to speak clearly into the guy’s ear. “If you play along as my date for like, I don't know, a little while, I’ll literally give you a thousand dollars. No exaggeration. I’m rich as shit so I’m good for it. And please don’t punch me. Be cool, follow my lead.”  
  
Before the guy could react or look at the fool propositioning him, Kent grabbed his collar and pulled him down to his level for a full, searing kiss.  
  
The guy immediately brought a huge hand up to cradle Kent’s jaw, kissing back as good as he was getting. _God_ , was that a bit of tongue? Thankfully the guy was into it and hadn’t slammed that gigantic fist into Kent’s well insured face. Surprising himself, Kent let out the tiniest whimper when the guy finally pulled away. As honestly fantastic as the random kiss had been, Kent wasted no time in turning to catch Jack’s reaction.  
  
“See? It’s good! We're all good. Come get a drink with us.”  
  
That’ll show him what he’s missing. He was interesting as hell! Desirable, even. Jack always needed to take a hint from Kent back in the day. Kent always set the pace at parties. He drank the first beer, took the first hit, or made the first move before Jack would catch on and outdo him every single time.

  
Why were they staring at him like that? Both of them. Jack was fuming, angrier than Kent had seen him in a long time. Eric was another story – all wide eyes and poorly concealed snickering as he attempted to shove his entire fist into his mouth to suppress whatever reaction he was having. It wasn’t funny.  
  
“Dude, come on.” Kent pulled on the guy’s sleeve. Time to face this shit.  
  
“Is this joke?” Asked a loud, irritated voice. “Why you do that? Is Zimmboni putting you up to this?”  
  
_Oh, god._ No fucking way. Let him die in that damn club, right there. He'd fucked up beyond any stupid plan, any single redeemable thought his brain could articulate. Kent slowly looked up the few extra inches the guy had on him to confirm his mortification, though that voice was unmistakable -- having heard it threaten him on the ice only a few hours earlier. Shit, he looked even more pissed than Jack.

“Mashkov,” he squeaked out, clearly lacking any dignity. Any he had left had vacated the premises even before this ill-fated kiss of death.

  
“ _Da_. Can I have money now, asshole? You say one thousand. I want cash.”  
  
Kent sputtered and stormed away with his bruised dignity and burning red face, shoving roughly at Jack as he brushed by. He couldn’t stand to look at any of them any longer. The entire situation was complete horseshit.  
  
He needed a drink. Or an entire bar immediately poured down his throat. Or something stronger, if he could get his hands on it. What the hell – it was a club on the Vegas Strip and he was wealthy as shit. Surely he could find some substance to burn the memories of the night out of his brain, forget the evening ever happened. Another encounter with Jack Zimmermann and another regret. Add it to the fucking list.

  
Easy to spot with their long, sleek hair extensions and sky high heels, Kent flagged down one of the bottle service chicks and demanded a table and a personal bottle of top shelf vodka. Russia had already fucked him over once that night, might as well continue the theme.

  
The squad of Aces previously abandoned at the other bar found him sprawled over a VIP booth with a significantly drained bottle, not too long after his Falcs sponsored disaster. He’d been aiming to do the _most_ damage, fast.  
  
“Whoa. Bro, where the fuck did you wander off? What happened?” Jeff asked, scooting into the booth and pulling Kent upright.  
  
“I offered Alexei Mashkov a thousand dollars to kiss him. Know anyone with any fucking coke? Wanna forget how much I suck as a person!” he slurred out miserably.

“Uh. Let’s not resort to _that_. But back up - what did you say?”

Kent slid back down to lie on the vinyl seat of the booth, sighing in the melodrama of it all. “Just leave me here, Swoops. Got a lot to forget. Either help me do that, or leave me here to die.”

He took the bottle from Kent’s hands, shaking his head as he watched his best friend pout and grab for his drink back. Time to clean up the latest mess, courtesy of one human disaster. At least Kent was consistent.


	2. that green light i want it

“Yo, Swoops? What did Parser say? Something about Mashkov?”

“Oh man, are those Rhode assholes here?”

Quickly, Jeff lied. “Guess they had some words? Threats? Don't think our boy came out on top.”

“Aw, cap. Lay off the big goons, they'll fuck you up.”

“Leave the fights to the rest of us, talents wasted on that shit…”

He was miserable and the guys were laughing their asses off. Someone, anyone? Let him in on the joke.  
  
“Oh, it’s just my life,” Kent answered the question he’d asked in his head, laughing too, now. “See? One big joke.”

He downed another long swig from the bottle.  
  
“Dude? You're trashed. What did you even say to him?”

“Yeah and what did _he_ say to you? Damn, kid.”

“How hard did the big brute deck ya, eh? You're lookin’ rough, man. Did he hit ya?”

“I’m not think anything like that happen. Only words. Yes?”

“This is why you need constant supervision, Parser.”

“Hey don't look at me. Wasn’t my turn to babysit.”

“Shut the fuck up, Carl.”

“What, it’s true. Just look at him.”

They all chattered at once, laughing and chirping his pathetic existence while he blankly stared at the reflection of a light bouncing off the ceiling.  
  
“It’s beautiful…” Kent flatly announced, transfixed by the light. “Big and beautiful.”

“What, Mashkov? I don't want to hear that shit. Man, you’re trashed.”

“Why you do this, why bother him? Did not know Alyosha is here tonight. Should know better than to gloat after beating other team. Making Aces look bad, mock guy in bar when he's down…” Scraps rambled. Ah. Kent forgot those two were somewhat close from playing together in the past.  
  
“Nah, it’s- it’s not like that. It was an act of desper-...desperation.” Woo. He was proud of himself for that vocab word in his state. “I was really drunk and stupid and it’s fucking embarrassing so, drop it. Everything is shit now. Need more Vodka.”  
  
He yanked the bottle back from Jeff and took another sip. The table fell oddly quiet. Kent looked up. He couldn't see from his position.

“What?” Swoops shoved him and gestured towards the large man looming above their table. Kent sat upright to see who was waiting up there. “Oh.”  
  
“Parson, idiot. Found you. Looking everywhere. Where’s my money?”

Goddamn it, man. He didn’t need this. Couldn’t they be mutually humiliated and go on ignoring each other for the rest of their lives? He didn’t need the guys to know what really happened, either. It was bad enough with what little information they had without Kent dragging someone else deeper into his shit. At the sight of an enemy Falconer, the group started up again.   
  
_“Mashkov!_ Hah, come to finish the job?”

“Yeah, right. Fuck off, ya fuckin’ goon.”

“Nah, take a seat. Tell us all about how cap asked you to get hot and heavy. Maybe you'll go a few rounds right here, I could use another laugh,” Nifty said, egging on the rest of the guy’s whistles and catcalls in Kent’s direction and completely making matters worse with that highly unaware and ill-timed double entendre. The accidental accusation infuriated the new arrival.

Alexei grabbed Kent by the collar of his jacket and forcefully pulled him up from the booth. Kent’s eyes widened at the display of strength, sobering enough to fight free and shove out of the angered grasp. A few of the guys made to go after Alexei with raised fists and protests, the tirade of chirps averted to protecting their captain, but Kent lashed back with a stilling wave and calls of ' _it’s fine, I’m fine.'_  Scraps told them to leave it, but eyed Alexei warily.  
  
They made for a deserted corner of the club where the music wasn’t deafening and people were scarce. Alexei shoved him against the wall and crowded him in, face stone set and menacing. It was intimidating. The guy was known for having a bit of a temper and being a bully on the ice, but infamously acted quite the opposite away from the game. Kent highly doubted the truth to the rumor, currently.  
  
Or, well. The look on his face wasn’t as angered as at first glance. Disappointed, more like. Concerned.  
  
“Why? Kent Parson, why did you do that?”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, you don’t get to say just, 'Oh, I’m sorry Alexei. I’m sorry for making a joke of you.'  _Fuck you_.” He slapped the wall next to Kent’s face and groaned.  
  
Kent refused to flinch at his outburst, pushing him back to provide at least a little bit of a berth between them.  
  
“Hey, fuck _you_! Hear me out. I’m really sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn’t know it was you at the damn bar. I’m sorry. I picked you because you seemed easy enough to either impress or make my friend jealous, ok? It wasn’t personal.”  
  
Alexei screwed up his face a moment in recollection, oddly adding, “Not personal, just business.’ What, you some Vegas mobster?”  
  
“Dude, what?”  
  
The slightest flit of a smile crossed Alexei’s face before hardening again. “Nevermind. Why you are lying? Your friend is Jack, yes? Why are you needing to make him jealous with me?”  
  
“I told you – you were a random choice!”  
  
“Ok whatever! Why does Jack need be jealous of you?”  
  
Ha. A loaded question if there ever was one; one Kent had asked himself on bad nights, more than once.  
  
“It's… I can’t… ugh, there’s history. It’s complicated.” A lame answer, but how could he possibly summarize what all transpired while not actually saying much truth? If he understood on his own, fine. He could fill in the gaps but Kent wasn't going to initiate a confirmation to rumor and theory.

“History like… like with Jack and little B. Yes?” He rose an eyebrow in understanding. “Not stupid. Now I figure as much.”

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I suppose.” Not really at all, but Kent got it. “I’m honestly sorry for dragging you into our shit. It’s stupid. Really, really, really stupid.”  
  
He was struggling to get the words out in his state, still drunk enough to be fuzzy around the edges. Kent wanted to leave, desperately. Before he said anything else to make what was already screwed even worse. Why did he think that god awful plan would accomplish anything positive? It made no sense at all. The heat of the moment could only carry him so far on excuses.

“Was… very stupid. But. Hmm. Be honest? Zimmboni – Jack. He is not… putting you up?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Jack did not ask you to pull joke on me, yes?” He let out a breath and added quietly, “ _Please_.”  
  
Ah. Those eyes were full of something Kent had seen in himself, seen during his hardest moments in the league. The moments he'd felt totally and utterly alone, the bad end of a joke and full of panic someone would find his vulnerability and hit hard. Shit. He had to fix whatever problem he'd caused now.   
  
“Oh. Oh, no. Alexei, I didn’t mean anything by it. Not like that. Jack had nothing to do with my shit, believe me. I’m just an asshole.”

“Yes. Yes, this is very true.” His relief was obvious, albeit still guarded.

“Glad we can agree on something.” Kent let out a defeated sigh. “So. Like. Def not my place to ask, but, uhhhhh. Are you…”  
  
He nodded between the two of them as if Alexei was supposed to pick up on what he was thinking.  
  
“Do what? I’m not going to hit. It’s ok. You feel like shit enough without my fist in your jaw, I’m thinking.”  
  
“No, I mean. Thanks for not doing _that,_ but like. Was it more the fact that me _kissing_ you was repulsive or...” 

It really, truly wasn't any of Kent's business but he couldn't help it. The thought that there was someone else out there, another sympathetic and understanding player, overruled any sense of polite tact. Those in his court or on his side were far and few. All the hints were there, along with a ray of hope. No honest to god straight man kissed back like that without at least some deep rooted _want_ , some excitement over a chance that had been handed to them. Alexei was the last person he expected to be standing there, confiding in him of all people, but the world was strange and the tides never stopped turning. There he was, unsure but found out regardless.

Alexei composed himself for a long moment, fully processing Kent’s words before answering.  
  
“ _Or_ … it's thinking that good friend betray something secret I tell him and that makes me so mad. And to pull joke with guy I think maybe he hate? Feel like betrayal. Then your stupid teammates make jokes.” He pulled a disgusted face, eyes closed as he slowly shook his head. “Think worst happen. Don't like being laughed at. Not for that.”

“I’m sorry. Again.”

“Is whatever. Like you say, really stupid. And you are asshole, so I guess just in your, uh, your nature? You can't help.” He shrugged with a teasing smile. 

“Weak chirp, bro.”

He was quiet a moment, then said, shyly, “Was very nice kiss though. Very nice. Despite… stupid reason. And how much I get scared when over.” He blushed furiously, refusing to meet Kent's eyes. It was so endearing.

“Really, now?” Kent leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and irritatingly smug. "Tell me how nice?"

“No! Shut up. Guess I'm not having much to compare! I take it back, blah. So awful.”

“Sure thing. Hey, so I meant it though, at the bar.” he started after a good laugh. “I’ll still give you that money. Like, as an apologetic gesture?”  
  
Alexei laughed hard. “Thinking I actually need money from you? Not desperate.”  
  
“Ok, just offering. Damn.”  
  
“I do ok. Make almost as much as you,” he poked Kent hard in the chest to emphasize.  
  
“Psssh, yeah right.”  
  
“Is true! I do pretty good!” Kent continued to laugh at him, heavy mood dissipating. "Like you can know. Money go farther in Providence. Bet my mansion bigger.”  
  
Scoffing at the smarmy wink, Kent answered, “Mansion? No fucking way. You live in a quaint walkup in uptown, I fuckin’ bet-”  
  
“What! How you know that?”  
  
“Dude, really?” Alexei ducked his head, not wanting to give Kent the satisfaction. “Lucky fucking guess. Ha.”  
  
“Stop learning all my secret. Fuck you and fuck your unfair Vegas luck.”  
  
The conversation stilled, but Kent was captivated by the shift. Alexei had fallen quiet and shy, biting his lip slightly as he looked back over his shoulder, searching for the table where he’d made quite a scene kidnapping their captain.   
  
“They are… also assholes,” he finally breathed out.  
  
“Hey, those are my boys over there.”  
  
“Still not liking how they laugh when I come over. What exact… what did you say?”

Kent bit the bullet and told him what he'd blurted to Jeff, but explained how everything else had fallen lost in translation. Jeff had his back, but a joke to an outsider was too close for comfort for those in the know. For both of them. Alexei groaned at the admittance, then once again, someone was laughing at Kent’s expense. It was not undeserved.

“Ha. Wow.”

“Yeah. They all think I tried to fight you or some shit, I guess. So you’re safe. I def come across as the bigger idiot here." 

“Speak for yourself. Me? Not _any_ part the fool.”

Finally completely done with their little emotional whiplash act in the corner of the club, Kent pushed away from the wall and headed back towards the table. He hoped Jeff had kept things in check. Jeff Troy was a reliable dude, in any case. Time to set stuff straight, though. _Ha. Word choice._  
  
“What is funny?” Alexei asked as Kent found himself hilarious. Whoops. Guess he’d laughed out loud at his own train of thought again.  
  
“No worries, man.”  
  
A distinctive quiet fell on the table at the return of the pair. Kent cleared his throat as Alexei lingered a few steps behind, wringing his hands and glaring at the small group of Aces at the table. One Falconer had joined the gathering, as well.

“Hey, Snowy,” Alexei gave a small wave to his goalie, sipping a beer and looking as blank faced as ever. Chesnosky gave a cool-guy-head-nod and went back to boring through Kent with his unsettling dark eyes.

“Hey. So. You guys know the saying 'what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?’ Well anything you heard or witnessed or said to me or him earlier falls under that, yeah? I don’t want to hear about it later. Fuckin’ embarrassing enough and I know it, alright?  We've all gotten a little too fucked up, who gives a shit. Whatever. We good?”

There was a group assurance of agreement and they all went back to their previous conversations and drinks. Kent turned to Alexei and cringed, feeling devastatingly lame.   
  
“I didn’t know what else to say without making this entire thing worse. So.”  
  
“No. Was good. You give speech as good as that in locker room?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Was inspiring.”  
  
“Do you want to dance?” Kent blurted.   
  
Mid laugh, Alexei stopped and gave Kent a questioning look.  
  
“You are kidding?”  
  
“Nope. You wanna? Nothing serious, but I’ve still got a pretty good buzz going. Despite everything."

“You think is good idea, after…” he wondered, unsure.

“It'll be fun. We can dance out our troubles, no worries. It's crazy out there, we'll just go with it. Trust me.”

They spared another look back towards the table, where Nifty and Swoops were recreating a debated second period play with cocktail straws as Chesnosky frowned and disagreed with whatever they were arguing. He was probably defending his honor after the less than stellar performance he'd given. The new duo were not going to be missed. Alexei pushed Kent gently towards the direction of the dance floor, eager to cut loose and forget.  
  
The packed floor gave them an escape, a way to blend, surrounded by bodies yet not spared a passing care as they jumped and moved to the pounding techno beats. Out of the two, Kent was the substantially better dancer. By far. He felt the need to repeat this sentiment out loud.  
  
“What the hell _is_ that move!?” He yelled in Alexei’s ear. The man was swinging his arms at his side while he bounced excitedly in place with a weird sort of flailing lean. It was near indescribable and Kent mockingly mimicked it.   
  
“Best at dancing! You have boring moves!”  
  
“You dance like a dad! No, you dance like those blow up guys outside car dealers!”  
  
“Oh, blow yourself, Parson!”  
  
His laughter was wild, loud even above the music. Mood lifted, Kent was dead set on having the sort of night he’d wanted from the beginning of the evening – easy, carefree, and with the cool confidence he was so, so fucking good at faking. He deserved a little fun. If all he was getting out of the night was a little dancing with a guy mid gay crisis - fine. He could work with that. 

He'd take what he could get at this point. 

Alexei continued his gleeful flailing and weird shoulder shimmies as other beautiful people swirled and gyrated all around them, blissful and drunk and high and oblivious to the outside world. Kent spun and moved his hips in a way that was transfixing, far too distracting for Alexei to continue to concentrate on doing more than only slight movements and half attempted arm motions. He wanted to reach out and grab.  
  
“You can touch me, you know,” Kent said, leaning quick against a solid chest and sliding back off before Alexei could process what happened. 

"How do you know is ok?" His eyes darted around. 

Kent smirked. "It's loud and dark and I want you to. No time better."

Those mesmerizing hips started moving again, slowly melting his brain. Fuck. Before that night he’d only had a few, (very, very brave) chaste kisses with other men, after failed dates set up by a well-meaning but insistent friend now that his long-time thoughts and secrets were slowly invading admitted life. It was all so new, but he was veering into territory that made him think about diving headfirst. Now, somehow, he only wanted to pull his annoying, aggravating rival against him and do whatever he was allowed until they were both breathless, since it seemed they could get away with it in their brief hidden world of the dance floor. Even as they stood swallowed up by the crowd, so many people everywhere, no one was looking.

It could be ok, just for a moment, to have this.

Kent leaned briefly against him again, set to turn away once more but was thwarted by a swift grasp at his wrist. Alexei reeled him back in, not knowing what to do with him now that he had him in his arms. The ice was kinder, gave him far more grace. Land made him too clumsy, too unsure. Kent took the lead and guided those big hands down, resting on his hips. He shimmied until they were flush against each other, chest to back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Alexei admitted, nervous laughter in his voice as Kent slowly began to move with him, forcing him to follow. It was so much, so fast, and made his brain feel slow and heavy in some dazed state. He wasn't even drunk, yet his feet refused to cooperate. As the music slowed briefly in song transition, he made to back away, nerves winning out. It was easier at his speed, carefree and with space between them as he made a joke out of everything to compensate. Kent pulled him back, closer. He really wanted to dance and was absolutely not letting this chance slide. Forget everything else but the physical - Alexei was exactly the type of guy he liked. 

“Don’t think so much, you're fine. I'm sure you’ve danced with chicks before, right?”  
  
“Yes. Not great. You see what I do out here. Is just silly.”  No use defending his pride. He pushed down some of the anxious waves and resumed his earlier hold. Fought back the jolt or _something_ he felt as well as he watched his hands, so large wrapped around such a slim waist. Fuck, he kind of really liked that. It was a dangerous train of thought he was trying not to dwell on.

“Stop thinking and go with it!! Who cares? I'm into it.” Kent spun again to face him, reaching up to grab Alexei by the back of the head, pulling his ear closer to his mouth. “Listen, this is really inappropriate – when am I ever – but, listen. I should have been scared or pissed or whatever when you grabbed me from out the booth but fuck, that was _really hot._  I mean, we could-"  
  
“ _Kent,"_  Alexei honest to god whined. The hand against his neck felt as hot as a brand.  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
Whatever was about to happen was interrupted by an insistent buzzing and ringing from Kent’s phone. Kent initially ignored it but when it kept going off, he stepped back to see what the hell was so urgent that they needed to call at this very important moment. Why wasn’t the entire world in tune with his personal life choices, huh?  
  
“Wait. Oh my god…”  
  
Kent stared at his phone, almost lovingly. Like the answers to the universe itself were contained on the bright little screen. “I can’t believe this is happening…”  
  
“What is wrong?”  
  
“Nothing’s wrong. This is incredible. Fucking incredible.”  
  
He rushed off the dance floor, leaving Alexei very confused and very let down. Whiplash. What a great big waste of all the courage he’d worked up to actually do something other than the obnoxious writhing of limbs to music. He’d had a pretty boy in his arms and the boy ran away. Well… fuck that.  
  
“Kent! Come back! Not done here!” He demanded as he chased after the big tease.   
  
“We’ll dance later, come on! This is important!”  
  
“No it’s not!”  
  
They ended up back at the table, where the group had thinned out quite a bit. Nifty, Carl, and Tomcat had disappeared and the squad of rookies were at a far booth chatting up a group of girls who seemed to be captivated by whatever drivel they were using to impress. Scraps and Snow were in an odd sort of stare off while Jeff rambled on and on and on to the not-so-captive audience. The story sounded like it was about some reality show in which he was emotionally invested. How long had they been dancing? It hadn’t felt that long, but what did Alexei know? He’d been nervously distracted during most of the excursion.  
  
“Guys. GUYS! I have incredible, important, life-changing news.” Kent grabbed one of the shots off the tray and downed it, wincing only a little. Alexei took one too for good measure. He then took another, to calm himself down. 

“What could be more important than getting these two up to speed on the silver screen’s most daring, intriguing-”  
  
“Please! Enough about stupid Kard Cash family! They are all idiot. Beautiful, but idiot. Save me, captain, save me!”  
  
“No, no, no. Scrappy, my man. You’re missing the nuanced beauty of their craft. Let me go back a lil’ bit.”  
  
That again? Scraps didn’t even watch television from this country. Pop culture references were lost on him, let alone detailed, passionate speeches about spoiled reality stars.  
  
“Stop! Stop. Guys. The Diva’s Ball scavenger hunt is happening tonight.”  
  
Swoops shot up in his seat, clearly his attention fully grabbed. This was some great fucking news.  
  
“Are you kidding me? God damn! YES!”  
  
The rest of the table looked at each other, either with continued confusion or (in one judgmental goalie’s case) utter indifference.  
  
Scraps sighed, long and tired. He was too old for this. Giving in, if only to cease the excited jabbering Swoops had been spewing, he asked the question on most of their minds.  
  
“What is this 'Diva’s Ball’ that makes you two moron all hot and bother? Sound like more foolish shit.”  
  
Indeed, Scrappy. Indeed.


	3. if you seek amy, you know you'll want to

The Diva’s Ball is a party. Not any run of the mill party or a party that just anyone could go to by lining up outside the club and hoping you had a famous face or one the bouncer decided he liked. Not a chance, the Diva’s Ball is selective. And you have to work for it. Not only is this tier of the Britney Spears fan club super exclusive, but you have to work, really damn work to get these incredible as hell opportunities. Understand? You want a Bugatti? You want a hot body? You'd better work, bitch.

“Wait? Go back. So confused.”

“And stop calling us bitch.”

“SCOTT! IVAN! Do not interrupt the saga.”

“...bitch.”

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to.”

Kent took a deep breath, another shot, and continued.

“Every year or three or whatever (she does what she fucking wants) the Diva’s Ball is held. Everyone knows that no one does New Year’s Eve like Las Vegas so the party is held in the greatest city in the world. Yours truly.”

“Are you implying that you’re the human embodiment of Vegas?”

“DAMN IT, SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE, STOP INTERRUPTING!” Jeff yelled, coming to Kent's defense.

Snowy put his hands up in defense and motioned for Kent to continue his tiring spiel.

“It used to be held in New York but the year before she took up residency here, the Diva’s Ball was moved to Las Vegas. So much better. Now, there's a lot of shit that's involved with being in this specific fan club, a lot of access to cool exclusive shit, but the most important part in recent years has been an invite to try to get a ticket into the Diva’s Ball. There are layers here.”

“Wait. So, being an exclusive _exclusive_ level super fan isn't even good enough? You have to get an invite to get an invitation? Wow. Fascinating.”

“LAYERS! Stop interrupting, I swear to God. You're lucky you're not an Ace or you'd be spending your hangover tomorrow running drills til you puke. God damn disrespectful.”

“Continue.”

“Anyway. It's so warped getting into big celebrity parties. You've gotta know the right people or have someone pull some strings. Or money. Money goes a long way. But not here. Real fans get a real chance to brush elbows. You can't pay your way into the Diva’s Ball. But you can pay it forward.

“Now, I'm the only one currently present who has access to this fan club tier BUT I do have the ability to pass along a few invites to a select group of people.”

“Guys, Kent’s told me about this shit, it's crazy intense. He's been in this little club since he was a kid and Brit was just starting out. It's one of the originals. Dude is loyal,” Jeff explained.

“Thanks, bro.” They fist bumped. “Assuming that you all don't want to pass this shit up, if you take out your phones I can transfer you the code to access the launch.”

Scott Chesnosky could only take so much. He was but a simple goalie, content to have a few beers after a tough loss and then turn in early. Why was this happening to him? He was so tired and really, truly had no idea what this idiot had been rambling about for the past ten minutes.

“Parson. _Please_. What the fuck are you talking about? You lost me so, so long ago. This is inane. Moronic.”

“It is insane! I almost can't believe it myself that we’re gonna do this, it's fucking great.”

He sighed, “No, man. No. Not at all what I said.”

Jeff stepped in. Someone had to take Kent down a few notches. It was getting hard to watch. Like being at a kid’s birthday out of obligation. There was only so long you could force a smile and let them run wild.

“Kay. Parser loves Britney Spears more than normal people should. She's cool though so we love him anyway, even if our Cap’s a little batshit, eh? So, there's this big New Year's party Miss Spears throws called the Diva’s Ball. A bunch of celebs go of course but fans can go, too. Certain fan club members get sent these scavenger hunt style invitations and they gotta find clues to get the go-ahead code or something to the party. It's real uh, conva- con, you know.”

“Convoluted,” Snowy deadpanned.

“Thank you encyclo-nerd! But yeah. You'd think it would be a lot more simple to, you know, just give out random invites to random fans but it's this whole weird ass citywide hunt for a damn entry ticket. Because, uh, Parse?”

On queue, “Because you gotta work, bitch.”

Unexpectedly, Alexei was the one to provide the obvious line and Kent may have fallen in love a little right there on the spot.

“Yes! This man gets it,” Kent smiled, still in awe.

“I don't.”

“Big surprise there, Snow.”

“What fresh hell do you mean by scavenger hunt? There can't be literal clues left around the city of Las Vegas? That doesn't seem at all plausible.”

Kent resumed the explanation.

“It's all digital. You get clues and you have to go to locations to unlock the next one. GPS? I guess. Fuck if I know the tech specifics but there are different paths, different cities. New York, LA, Miami, here, maybe Chicago? I'm not sure which but a handful of the big ones.”

“Why, though? Why? This is so ridiculous. Why so much trouble for some fucking party?”

“Cause it's fun, asshole. Try it sometime.”

Kent continued to field questions -- confusion from Scraps and bewildered annoyance from Snowy. Jeff interjected here and there. He was used to his captain’s eccentricities, having been converted into a closet fan after years of weight room playlists and joining Kent a few times to see the woman herself perform at nearby Planet Hollywood. Shit, Parser’s individualized goal song was _Circus_. His status as an extreme fan was resolute. It was a part of Aces locker room culture at that point.

“So. Who’s in? Jeff?”

Kent looked at the group, hopeful that at least his reliable liney would maybe join in his ridiculous adventure. Whether anyone was joining him or not, Kent was going on this wild ride. Since the Diva's Ball had relocated to Vegas, the Aces' game schedule hadn't lined up perfectly, with days off in coordination for the clue hunt as well as the guarantee of being in town for New Year's. Stars aligned and it was all happening. Time to welcome the year in the best way possible, hopefully with someone by his side at the party of his dreams. First, someone had to agree to join him. His fellow Aces were sure to be around, but would Scraps and Jeff care? Would they indulge yet another of his eccentricities? 

Part of him felt embarrassed now that he'd stopped rambling about the whole ridiculous event. Geez, why’d he have to get so riled up? The group stared back at his expectant hopefulness as the awkwardness seeped into the moment. Shit. He rubbed at his neck and considered slinking away alone and making a hasty run for the exit before they started crudely digging into him over this.

Jeff shrugged and took out his phone.

“Are you kidding me? This should be interesting. I'm in, bro.”

One. Nice. Kent grinned wide and forwarded him the link. Scraps followed with a request. As confused as he was, what else was he gonna do that night? They were already out and he thought that Kent always had such fun ideas. He was in.

“Here.” Snowy put his hand out for Kent’s phone, resigned to the entire event. “Let me add my info and you can send it.”

“Scotty! I'd be honored.”

“Don't call me that.”

One left. Trying not to look over eager, Kent turned to Alexei, the last yet to be swayed by such a lucrative endeavor. Because he couldn't resist such a hopeful expression, Alexei sighed and asked for Kent’s phone.

“Alright. Only since Snowy going.”

“Sure thing, man,” Kent chuckled, bumping his hip against Alexei as he entered his info. He lightly checked him back, tongue poking through a smirk as he typed.

When Kent tried to get his phone back, Alexei dangled it out of reach, playing up his obnoxious height as Kent shoved him. Blatant flirtation but luckily the group was too dense to read into their behavior. Embarrassing. It was nice though, on a small level, to fool around and push the limits of what he could get away with with minimal fear that these guys would tear into him for it. It was so easy sometimes to mask his mannerisms as stupid bro shit.

Kent felt a rush of excitement at the potential the night held. When he went to text the link to Alexei, finally getting the phone back, he saw that he’d added his number under the name ‘Tater’ with the fucking potato emoji.

“Ugh, do I really have to call you _Tater_?”

“Call me what you want,” he shrugged. “Is what friends call me.”

“We’ll see.” He sent the link, forwarding it to Snowy as well. “At least you didn’t put your full fucking name _and_ jersey number like Scotty boy here. Freak.”

Snowy flipped him off, on queue, without looking up from his phone.

With less drama and pomp than the initial explanation, Kent continued on to part two of the saga. Now that everyone had their links, the scavenger hunt could begin. There were different paths they could choose, sending would-be party goers in different directions around their respective cities. It was all completely, ridiculously overdone for what was most likely a few hundred or so fans spread across several major cities. Regardless, that was the state of things.

Jeff and Kent briefly argued over whether to choose the _Circus_ , _In the Zone_ , or _Femme Fatale_ path. It got pretty heated.

“What! Obviously we have to go with _In The Zone_. Best album, hands down.”

“But _Circus_ is my jam.” This was true, though Kent had many, _many_ jams. He sounded like a broken record at that point.

“Yeah but that’s just one track. _In the Zone_  sniped out hit after hit!" 

“Every Britney song is a fucking hit, brah.” Kent added flatly. 

“ _Toxic_! Toxic’s on that album. Instant win card!”

“Toxic is overrated.” Kent cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. Alexei watched the debate like a tennis match.

“Who the fuck _are you_?” Jeff shook his head in disgust.

“No, yeah, it’s totally not. It's the best and I can’t believe you made me say it.”

“ _Femme Fatale_ sounds sexy,” Snowy unhelpfully added.

“Shut up, Scott!” Jeff and Kent simultaneously chimed.

Snowy rolled his eyes and informed them that they could pick him up from the bar once they decided on a goddamn path. Morons.


	4. a little less fight, a little more spark

They say there are two types of people in the world: the ones that entertain and the ones that observe. Who gave this astute proclamation? Well, the pop princess, herself. Certain hockey captains took the advice to heart.

After much debate, Kent unsurprisingly got his way. _Circus_ was the chosen path.

“ _All eyes are on you for the first of six clues:_   _I’m friends with the man in the center of the ring who came and conquered and now you will be, too_.”

Scraps squinted at the screen, reading the first clue over and over.

“What this means? What man? We need find one man in whole big city. Great.”

“It’s a clue. It’ll refer to the location we gotta find,” Kent said, explaining what everyone but poor Scraps had already worked out on their own. “Let me think…”

“It’s at Caesar’s.” Snowy had returned, one of the Amazonian-esque bottle girls in tow with a tray of shots. “He came, he saw, he _conquered._  Easy shit. Fuckin’ lame.”

“Heh. Sounding like good night. Maybe in different order,” Scraps added with a played up wink, receiving groans from the entire group and chiming giggles from the goddess with the vodka. Dad jokes were his specialty.

“If we’re gonna do this juvenile little romp… then let’s fuckin’ do this, eh?” Snowy motioned to the tray.

They all took a glass, clinked together in a toast (Alexei and Scraps shouted something Russian and celebratory in unison to the bewilderment of the others), and downed their shots for the official commencement of the hunt. Onward to Caesar’s Palace, the kingdom of questionable decisions. Jeff and Scraps led the way, animatedly riling each other up as fresh fuel spurred them onward. Snowy’s trademark indifference showed on his face, but he contently followed their lead, hands tucked in his jacket and absently humming to the fading music as they left the Marquee. Even a cynic like him couldn't avoid the stirring melodies of top forty remixes blasting above.

As they exited, their squad an exuberance of noise, Kent completely missed the curious and concerned stares of Eric and Jack, sitting with two of the veteran Falconers players at a table in a cafe just outside the club. Alexei gave a quick wave as he caught sight of them, but turned his focus back to the group excitedly hurrying towards their new goal. Kent was buried in his phone, absorbed in his Twitter feed and in no way at all sparing a single thought about Jack Zimmermann.

Alexei made them stop to take selfies by the dangling beaded crystals of the Cosmo casino area (there were too many glittering things to distract, no matter where the eye was drawn) and then quickly snapped a picture of the _Eggslut_ cafe sign, laughing obnoxiously at the name as they passed (hilarious instagram and Snap fodder for when he had another spare moment). He almost wished they’d been able to stay at the club longer, already missing the sound and flashing lights and massive dance hall. Mixed emotions lingered on the place, but Alexei settled on a sort of distant fondness. It was all working out. The evening had turned from the disappointment of a hard game loss to anger to the promise of something exciting and new. But there was a lot of Vegas to see yet. This was only clue one.

The bustle and noise and lights flooded their vision after stepping out onto the Strip. Snap. Another picture, and another. No matter that it wasn’t his first time visiting, Alexei was always blown away by the city. Visiting once, twice a year for the past half decade or so hadn’t dulled the intrigue. The place fascinated him, such an eternal tourist. He couldn’t get enough of places like Vegas or LA or New York. They never looked like the same city to him despite repeat visits. The feeling of wonder was overwhelming with limited time and the desire to never miss a moment of the action. He loved America.

“Can’t believe you live here. This is every day? I've wonder about Aces team, how you live here. Is so much.” He asked Kent as they crossed over one of the bridges that linked the casinos far above the busy streets below.

“Not _every_ day. I mean, I live right over there.” He pointed to a tall, slim apartment tower that could be seen through a gap between two massive hotel buildings. “Can see the Strip and everything from my balcony but, you know. Lot more to town than all this. We play on the Strip but I don’t buy my groceries here, get my teeth fixed here. You know. Balance. This shit's great but theres a community, too."

“Providence? Very nice. Quiet. I love it. Place like this? So exciting. Want to explore forever. Not know if I could adjust. So much to distract. ”

Kent huffed out a laugh, pondering on his own troubled rookie years. It had been easy for a fresh faced kid, not even really old enough to enter the casinos, to get caught up in the flashing lights. Temptation of every sort hid in plain sight around every corner, whispering sweetly from the underground to every unfiltered thought in your mind. He could always find someone to get him anything he wanted. When you had a Name, that took you far in a place like Vegas. Anything he wanted - boom. It was his.

In time, he'd learned that wasn't entirely true. Getting everything he’d ever wanted didn’t guarantee that he was happy. High rollers still had limits. 

Alexei’s expectant smile shook Kent from his reminiscent thoughts.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks. I mean, you do get guys who get a little, you know. On any team. But here, it’s…”

“Home. Becomes home.” They glanced at each other, understanding. "Normal, maybe."  

“Yup. This is my normal.”

“Never being dull. Oh! Look, look! I _need_ that.”

He’d spotted one of the many frozen drink fill-up stations that dotted the walkways along the main boulevard. Kent sighed and called for a group halt so Alexei could buy himself one of those two foot long margaritas that were sold in a kitschy plastic container. He chose the garishly colored neon blue one. It was horrendous.

“Blue for Falconers!” He yelled excitedly, taking a long drink as Snowy snapped his picture. Even he couldn’t help but split into a fond grin at his friend’s antics.

“Thank you Nevada for your beautiful fuckin’ open container laws,” Snowy said as he cracked open a can of whiskey that none of them had any clue where he'd procured it from.

“Fucking tourists, eh?” Jeff muttered to Kent, who nodded his head in agreement.

After a brief hesitation, Scraps turned to the vendor. “Give me half size. Pina Colada. Two extra shots.”

With the resident Russians moving to the back of the pack to chatter out of English and happily enjoy their frozen disasters, the squad continued forward. They were rowdy and loud, laughing at street performers and whistling at a group of oblivious girls passing by who were wearing Aces hats. Kent stole some of Alexei’s giant margarita as they walked. He planned on picking one up himself the next time they passed a stand.

The crowds suddenly thickened as they crossed down the walkway onto another street. The group pushed through until the press of people grew nearly immobile.

“Ah, shit. Parser, what time is it?”

“Yeah, it's a fountain show. This'll clear up soon.”

The out-of-towners perked up in interest.

“Bellagio? Like _Ocean_ movie Oh, so pretty! We should watch!” Alexei eagerly pleaded, swinging the now empty container around, nearly whacking bystanders. Kent grabbed the awful thing and shoved it in a trash can.

“Hey! Wanted to save that for souvenir. Rude asshole,” he complained along with some harsher Russian curses.

“I'll buy you a new one and mail it to you. Want to watch the damn show? Look.”

Music began to drift overhead as the lights in the man-made lake in front of the Bellagio started shining bright. The group used general bulk and chippy tactics to rudely shove their way to an open spot along the stone railed alcove to watch. Alexei stood behind Kent, pushing him to the front since ‘he was so, so tiny.’ The jets of water in the fountains shot high into the air in tune with the song as five drunk NHL players stood transfixed. There was nothing like watching the iconic fountain in person, however jaded one was to wonder.

Kent swayed to strings of Sinatra as he watched the fountains he'd passed by hundreds of times in his Vegas resident years. This was somehow different. It felt like he was watching with new eyes, the excitement of those surrounding him infectious. And once again, Alexei was struck with _want_ , pressed so close to this infuriating man. What an up and down, unchartable mess of a night. It was unfair.

He steadied himself with a brave hand laid against Kent’s waist, gentle, but enough to garner his attention. Kent shifted, tearing his gaze away from the dancing water to spare a glance up at Alexei. His face was one of conflict, eyes trained on the show as he bit hard into his bottom lip. That was enough for Kent. He could let the guy live in the moment and briefly pretend that the limits of their world were so much kinder, that their situation allowed them to feel freely. 

Cautiously, but with quick purpose, Kent subtly grabbed and guided Alexei’s arms to wrap around his waist, obviously what the guy so shyly longed to do. Given the go ahead, he practically melted into Kent, tension lessened at the contact. He breathed in deep, intoxicated by whatever scent Kent was wearing. Honestly, the guy was wearing way too much cologne but Alexei was weirdly into it all the same. Feeling bold, he pressed his cheek lightly against soft gold hair, eyes still fixed on the fountains. With the others crowded around them, attention fully occupied, they were unnoticed. They were safe -- sharing a small moment in the oft unkind bustle of the world.

The music faded and the water receded until the next show. The group snapped back to reality, jazzed up to once again continue their pop princess scavenging. It was with quick reluctance that Alexei released his grip on Kent. They exchanged somewhat embarrassed smiles and followed after the other three plowing ahead. No one would notice anything out of the ordinary if their hands brushed more often than mere coincidence as they walked, fingers catching and letting go as fast as the speeding traffic to the right. Total accidents, repeatedly. For sure. The sparks of giddiness they both felt definitely meant nothing. Not to Kent. Absolutely not.

“Guess we're really, _really_ past all that shit from back at the Marquee now, yeah?” Kent blurted, unable to keep his damn mouth shut in his inebriation. Like he even needed that excuse. “Sorry.”

“Don't think about. Is over. Start… start new.”

“Yeah. Forget it. Ok.”

“Maybe. Maybe not forget _everything_ ,” Alexei added with a wicked smile. Kent couldn't take it anymore, his immediate thoughts were about to spill and again make him out to be a fool. He possessed near zero impulse control.

Desperate to say something before better judgement took the reins, he started. “Alexei-”

“CAESARS! We're here! Woooo!”

Thank you to Jeff, forever a mood kill and a continued presence in inadvertently stopping his teammate from many an embarrassing display, even if he didn't know the extent. The man was both a curse and a blessing in his day to day life.

The Palace complex was massive and they needed to pinpoint where exactly the GPS would trigger the clue confirmation. The five of them stumbled around the labyrinth of steps in the expansive column lined courtyards out front, searching for ideas. They maybe had about a brain and a half’s worth of deductive skill firing between the lot in their messy states. Snowy caught sight of the giant white statue of the big man himself, nearest to the boulevard, where valet and taxis were lining up to drop off hotel guests. Bingo.

“Inside. We have to go inside the lobby.”

“Makes sense,” Jeff said, leading the way. “Then where ya think? Casino? Is there a certain club we should check out first? What's here? Kent, I forget. I don't really party here.”

“Me neither, we’ll work our way inwards.”

“No, it's just gonna be the fuckin’ lobby,” Snowy insisted.

“What, really? That's boring. Why?”

Snowy sighed, not believing he was about to admit this. “Ever seen _The Hangover_ ?” Everyone answered yes. “Well. There's a big gaudy statue of Caesar in the lobby. I remember it from the end of that stupid movie. Bet that'll be it. It's in a _ring_."

He was so fucked. Alexei would never let him live this down. The culturally refined image Snowy held was so particularly crafted and that all fell apart with a simple, avoidable revaluation. Why had he agreed to the quest, _why_?

Alexei laughed and laughed. “Snowy, you watch _Hangover_? I cannot picture this! Not your style!”

“Shut up, Tater. Honestly. Who the fuck hasn't seen that fucking movie?”

“Not guess you!”

“Bit low-brow, for ya, eh professor?” Jeff joked. “Guess we gotta officially initiate you into our wolf pack now.”

“Ya got great taste in movies, man.” Kent gave an over the top thumbs up. “Stay classy.”

“All of you can shut the fuck up or I'm done giving you shitheads any more help on these asinine fucking clues.” A family passing by scowled, the mother covered her child’s ears at the vulgar tirade. “Hey, who the fuck brings kids to Vegas? It's the middle of the fuckin' night, lady!"

The group all stared at the outburst, momentarily mesmerized. 

"Snowy, my man. That was incredible." 

* * *

 

Turned out that Snowy was correct. The app accepted the check-in at the golden statue of Caesar in the middle of the lobby. More selfies were taken, along with pleading for Alexei to not try to recreate the movie scene where Alan swam in the fountain surrounding the statue. Thankfully four professional hockey players had the combined strength to pull the giant child away from total catastrophe.

“CLUE 2: “ _Conserve your energy, still five more to go. Step off the street and stop to smell a rose_ , _hidden away in the - - - -.”_

“Jesus fucking christ, what the actual fuck does that mean?”

Jeff was so not feeling the whole riddle portion of their adventure. He was drunk and ready to run and the mildly intellectual, however bland, was unappealing. He called for their resident genius to take the reins and decipher the new instruction.

“Well. The rhyming here’s a bit derivative but if my knowledge of this gaudy town is correct, there’s like, a garden or some shit in the Bellagio. Right?”

“Ah. That’ll be it.”

Alexei threw his arms around Snowy’s shoulders and cooed over how smart his goalie was, how lucky he was to be friends with such a smart guy. Snowy was too fond of the clingy guy to feel any sort of way other than be amused by the gleeful smothering.

“ _Hidden away in Bell-a-gi-o_. Oh. Flower room. Bellagio. I understand this,” announced Scraps with pride, effectively silencing the group. “What? I figure this clue out. Why you are not impressed?”

He was met with dumbfounded stares before their stifled snickers morphed into full blown hysterical laughter, echoing around the lobby.

“Oh, leave Ivan alone. You bruise his pride,” Alexei said in defense of the poor fool.

“All you can go fuck right off. Me? Stay in Caesars. Playing Blackjack a little. Catch up later.”

With a pissed off look on his usually carefree face, Scraps turned hard on his heel and set off for the casino floor. The group decided they might as well follow.

While the night wasn't exactly young, it was far from over. The scavenger hunt remained active for twelve hours and they'd made fairly decent progress. There was plenty of time. With Snowy at the helm of deciphering, no one doubted that they'd complete the list before morning light. It was a darn good thing that the Falconer’s flight to their next game in Anaheim wasn't until late the following evening, for once having a decent stretch of days between games somehow. The team had schemed earlier in the year to spend extra time in Vegas rather than heading out immediately for the following stop on their extensive West Coast roadie.

Sin City beat out Disneyland in a landslide. As it should be. 

The game floor was lively, cash falling over hand everywhere the eye drifted. Scraps planted himself at a table near the middle of the floor, one hand hovering over on a small pile of chips while the other swirled a quickly comped glass of scotch. Pina Coladas followed by scotch -- Ivan Skvortsov was an intriguing man, full of often overlooked nuance.

For the rest, slots grew boring when no one was pulling ahead quick enough for the attention span of drunken perpetual children. Their rowdy behavior drew the attention of the drink girls, keen to ply them with free booze and encouraging flirtations for just one more pull of the machine’s lever, _boy you look like a winner tonight. Maybe you'll get lucky._ Toss on a wink and a smile and they all shoved bills at you without thinking.

The excitement of the craps tables eventually drew them away from their hopeless cause. Kent had lived in Vegas for a decent amount of time but still had no idea how to play this particular table game. It didn't really matter. Players yelling and cheering and jeering was enough of an enticement.

Snowy lingered back, studying the game and taking the whole thing very, very seriously. He occasionally gave a call, countering his odds before getting swept up in all the excitement. He found more success than Kent, who was too eager to place wagers and follow whatever suggestions Alexei was whispering in his ear.

It was his turn for roll of shooter. After another up close and personal conference with Alexei, Kent called his bet and rolled the dice. Fantastic. A favorable wager. The pair cheered and hugged, celebrating along with the other players benefiting from the roll. Jeff watched them with narrowed eyes as they practically draped themselves over one another, messy and careless in the joyous haze of it all. Reckless and drunk.

“Lucky shot,” Kent mused, accepting another drink from a flirty waitress he had no eyes for. The liquor flowed freely, seen by the staff as the root of the crowd plastered to the lively table game. Keep comping them with cheap liquor and they'd spend far more cash than the drinks were worth.

Bets and shooters went around the horn again, coming back to Kent. He boldly held the dice out to Alexei, grinning wide when the guy simply kissed the dice and pushed them back to Kent.

“No, no. You are on roll right now. Keep calling. So lucky.”

“Yeah? I want to get lucky,” he slurred, aiming for sultry despite how devastatingly lame of a line it was. 

Apparently it worked, seeing how Alexei boxed him in even closer, one long arm around his shoulders as he egged Kent on with sweet nothing encouragements. Another successful roll and they giggled with faces close, the big dumb lushes. Kent felt himself smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt, hands sliding down to steady himself by gripping Alexei’s suit sleeves, stumbling against a broad chest for support. Breathless in the golden light of Caesars, he felt so truly _alive_. Alexei grabbed another shot from the nearby tray and tipped it back into Kent’s waiting mouth. It was the funniest fucking thing to the pair, the way Kent threw a fist up in celebration, like a valley girl at her first rager. Alexei curled an arm around his waist to pull him closer. Kent was so happy he could scream.

And then he was wrenched away faster than his reflexes could process.

“Sorry, Mashkov. Need to chat with my boy a moment.”

Practically falling over himself, only braced upright by a livid Jeff, Kent called back for Alexei to save his place and keep up the winning streak if it came back around to his turn. He yelled numbers to avoid or pick until he was well out of earshot.

Once pulled far enough away from the excitement of the table games and never ending ringing of slots, Jeff wheeled them against an ATM, face tense and full of concern. The machine bounced with the force, but Kent only slumped like a rag doll on it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Still giddy with spilled vodka on his chin, Kent answered, “Playing craps. Winning. Doing what I do best.”

He whiped at his face, then licked his palm. Jeff pulled a disgusted face at the action.

“Yeah. Making an ass of yourself.”

“What are you talkin’ bout?” He slung a hand at Jeff’s face, swiping at his cheek as he was batted away. He kept up his irritating whatever the fuck he was doing until Jeff snatched his wrist.

“Stop, man. What the fuck?”

“Don't be mad at me, I'm drunk. What's wrong?” Kent whined, really and truly whined. “Are you mad at me?”

“Shit. Bro, you're all,” he lowered his voice, “you're _all over_ each other.”

“What are you talking ‘bout?”

“Swear to god, you were about a minute from fuckin’ making out with Mashkov at that damn table. Right out in the fuckin’ open.”

Kent found this statement incredibly hysterical. Jeff wasn't laughing.

“Nahhh, not even. You're drunk. _I'm_ drunk, ha. What? Man, don't give me that stupid look. Whatever. It's nothing…”

“Really? Then fine! Like I need to give a shit! Tryin’ to look out for you here. Didn't think you'd appreciate getting yourself into that kind of shit, wake up the next morning and see what you did on some fuckin' site…”

Kent pushed away from him, lightness dimming at the major mood shift.

“Fuck off. You're reading into things.”

“Am I?”

“It's not like that. We're just having a good time. Messing around. Why are you being such a dick?”

“Parse. C’mon.”

“Psssh, anyway, you and I've acted worse out in bars.”

“Uh, this is so different and you know it. To an outsider-”

“How? How's it any different then when we get wasted and fuck around places. It's noth-”

Jeff quickly cut him off again. “What really happened back at the club? With him? What did you do?”

Through a clenched jaw, Kent stared downwards at the garish carpet, eyes drifting anywhere but on Jeff. He really hoped his face wasn't blushing as hard as he imagined. It felt like fire, from both the alcohol and the shame of accusation. He shouldn't have to feel that way about how he acted, what he wanted. Unfair. Realistic. 

“Yeah. Thought so. I could tell something was off.”

“God, Jeff. I thought we were _cool_. With…” Kent couldn't say the truth out loud, the constant elephant in the room. Not there, especially not then. He felt so small.

“I am! I am cool with it, _of course_. You're my boy, Parser. But you gotta get this under control. It's _your_ fucking life but, _fuck_ , man. I know how you get. This isn't the right way.” Kent rolled his eyes, despite fully understanding. “I'm just lookin’ out. You forget what the fuck you're doing sometimes.”

Wouldn't that be nice? To forget everything -- the secrets, the feeling of always having to look over your shoulder. All of it. He never forgot, but sometimes it was unbelievably tempting to let parts of his extreme inward scrutiny slip away and _pretend_ that forgetting was a possibility. He was so, so tired of these goddamn expectations, the limits. The way people acted like they had his back and then made him feel like his wants and choices were worthless. _Stay in line, don't go too far_. _It's all for the best - you'll thank me later_. He knew at the end of the day, the end of every night, nothing was going to change. There were no dramatic declarations to be made. He couldn't possibly just say fuck it and live his life. Could he? 

No. _No_. Why was he even considering the alternative? 

“Thanks. But I'm good. It's under control.”

Jeff sighed, rubbing his temples. “Is it? Is it really? Do you have any idea what you're doing? Like, listen. He's been cool but, bro. We barely know him. I don't know."

Resigned to end the discussion,wand with a sad sort of underlying laughter, Kent said, “You should know by now that I never know what the fuck I'm doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. eggslut is a real cafe in the cosmo and its existence is hilarious but the foods real good esp if you're hungover eyyy  
> 2\. all the clues are just as stupid as these ones like. it's a britney spears party scavenger hunt, are you kidding me? the entire concept is already stupid lmaoooo  
> 3\. kent is such a sad messy boy and i love him


	5. feels like the crowd is saying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's weird, it's flirty, and then it's a little spicy ;)))  
> i haven't updated in forever because i decided i hated everything i had written and not posted yet soooo i re-did it all and now this is what i have to show for it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Ivan was collected from his blackjack table (the man a few hundred richer) and the squad corralled their sloppy mess on to the next destination. There were places to be and they'd worn out both their luck and their welcome at Caesar’s.

After the tense confrontation with Jeff, Kent was subdued. The task of walking was still rough but his mental state had sobered him to the point where he could manage to get one foot in front of the other without immediately face planting into the cement. He'd nearly eaten pavement a few times, but a steadying hand from Alexei saved him until he got his footing. Kent internally fought the conflicting jolts of _whatever_ it was that rushed through him when their contact lingered. They were trapped in some sort of gravitational pull, universe oblivious to how much they should be fighting it. The guilt of selfishness on Kent’s part clashed with baseline _want_ , Alexei none the wiser. He had his own hangups to wrestle, urges to fight. For him, it was all so new and exciting -- though still a bit scary-- while Kent stewed in the same old dilemmas, the same panicked pondering of what was safe and what he could allow himself.

It wasn’t fair. He’d long learned to be stronger than this, easier to ignore what he really wanted and save his risks for where it mattered.

Kent was slightly embarrassed now that he had time to react to his actions, to be honest. Where was his self control? He'd been getting so damn good at it, improving over time. The encounter with Jack earlier must have broke that carefully forced composure. The evening played in a loop, scenes making him cringe and blush and his stomach turn with more than just an excess of booze.

“Hey. Sorry I was such a dick in there. I just-”

“It's fine. We're over it.” Kent snapped, clearly disinterested in Jeff’s continued insistence on the topic.

“Ok. I only wanted to-”

“Swoops.” No. Kent was over this conversation. “We’re good. Promise. Save it for another time, yeah? I’m trying to chill the fuck out if you’d let me, man.”

Hands up in defeat, Jeff shrugged off their failed discussion and jogged to catch up with the surprisingly chatty pair of Scraps and Snowy.

Alexei reached out a soothing hand, oblivious to all that had happened inside the casino and still riding the weird wave of interest he felt for his new friend. He scratched and rubbed at the base of Kent’s neck as they walked, offering comfort for the unknown. He only knew something had shifted in Kent ever since he'd been pulled from the craps table. His fingers traced absent patterns that sent shivers up Kent's spine in the best possible way. _Why was he reacting so strongly to this fucking guy?_ Jeff had forced Kent two steps back and then, with the simple scratch of blunt nails against his skin, he’d been headfirst again into what he was trying to avoid. He was so easy for it, desperate for this human connection of shared circumstance -- and that frightened him.

“You ok?” Alexei asked.

“I am now. Fucking fantastic. Keep that up and I may damn well melt.”

Alexei smiled proudly at his small victory. His hand dropped as they ascended another busy cross-street walkway. He was so distracted by the bright lights and tall, flashing buildings reflecting off the glass paneling along the bridge that he almost missed Kent dropping a few crisp twenties into the collection box of a weary man propped against the wall. It was a small thing, but surprising to catch witness. The act only added to his growing fondness.

They called him a bully on the ice -- a loud, hard-hitting brute. One of those expected fighters who lucked out with actual skill to back up his fists. Far from the truth. Alexei knew all about challenging a reputation and breaking first impressions. Kent Parson was so much more than the aloof, arrogant pest that opponents scoffed at or the larger-than-life record breaker the media drooled over. He was full of surprises.

And Vegas could always be counted on to keep on changing the score. Alexei burst out laughing when he glanced upwards and saw a staggeringly massive flashing marquee sign projecting an image of Kent across its screen. Down to earth? Ha. _Sure thing_ . The neon Kent loomed in full gear, smoldering gaze staring out over the Strip as an advertisement for tickets and the next week’s home schedule flashed around him. Alexei snapped a picture before it switched to a Cirque du Soleil advertisement and uploaded it to his instagram. He cast a glance at the real live version of the guy. Kent had the audacity to look slightly embarrassed as the group hooted and hollered about the ad, exuberant obnoxiousness reignited from the local guys at the sight of ‘ _their boy reppin’ the fuck outta the Aces six stories high_.’

 **a91mashkov** little rat on big screen ((( can’t go anywhere this town #gross #stalker #goPVDFalcs

“Hey, Kent. You should follow me on Insta.” He poked his tongue out and winked, finding himself hilarious.

“Uh, sure? Remind me later.”

Finally, they reached their next destination. It was unbelievable how far apart everything was in Las Vegas, how mind-blowingly massive the casinos were. They at least were given a breather in between shifts on the ice, but traveling from casino to casino was beyond exhausting on foot. Nothing but booze fueling them certainly didn’t help.

“Back at it again at the Bellagio,” Snowy chimed as they waltzed into the grand resort’s lobby, throwing the doors open behind him like a man on a mission, like that scene in _Two Towers_ (well, he was scruffy but nowhere near as ruggedly charming). And to think, he started off the night the _most_ apprehensive to the entire situation. Look at him now.

They twisted through travelers checking in despite the late night hour and followed overhead signs pointing to the botanical gardens. Thankfully, this clue brought them somewhere more subdued, less prone to bouts of trouble and exuberant spending sprees. Trusty phone in hand, clicking away, Alexei took in the fantastical and intricate floral sculptures. The conservatory was pretty much deserted at that time of night, giving free reign to the camera happy without having to fight off other tourists for prime pictures. Snowy messed with the scavenger app, eagerly waiting for it to catch the GPS location and give him the third clue to decipher while Alexei pulled Kent into various selfies.

While they were posing with the duo of giant peacocks and weird tree with a face in the trunk, the app finally accepted their location and chimed a little 8-bit ditty of _Oops, I Did it Again_.

“What is next clue, Snowman?” Scraps asked, draped over Snowy’s back and annoyingly poking at his phone screen.

“If you would _kindly remove yourself_ from my body I’ll let you know. Trying to figure out how the fuck to get this fucking song to stop.”

“Look, new best friends,” Alexei joked quietly to Kent as he pointed at the disaster twins arguing over the phone screen. Jeff was in some sort of deep drunken stupor, staring intensely at the tree’s giant, disturbing face and trying to receive the secrets of the universe.

He slung an arm around Kent’s shoulders, pulling him in for another selfie in front of one of the fancy birds. Right before he took the picture, he pressed a sloppy kiss to Kent’s cheek, laughing at Kent’s resulting startled flail.

“Dude, do NOT upload that to your fucking instagram,” Kent pleaded.

Alexei adjusted his arm to fall along Kent’s waist as he pocketed his phone. He leaned in and flicked Kent’s nose hard with a self-satisfied grin. Rude. Kent almost thought the guy was leaning in for something decidedly nicer. He felt a bit disappointed, however bad of an idea it would have been.

“No. Not share picture. That one is for me.”

Kent rubbed his nose and leaned into Alexei’s side as they headed back towards the others.

“Send it to me later?”

“Of course. Good picture.”

“Besssst picture.” They both giggled and tripped over each other’s feet as they tried to coordinate their steps while plastered against each other. And while, well, just plastered. Alexei leaned down, resting their foreheads together as they continued laughing and making damn fools out of themselves in the middle of the garden.

“HEY! Stop sucking face and get over here. We got shit to do, guys.” Snowy waved his phone around, impatient.

The phrase _sucking face_ captured Jeff’s attention, pulling him back to earth from wherever his brain had been completely spacing out. He instantly turned to Kent, brow furrowed as he mouthed some questioning words. All of which was promptly ignored -- Kent was not dealing with a scolding again so soon.

“Spoilsport,” Kent mumbled. It wasn't funny but Alexei laughed anyway.

“Kent, shut up. I’m reading the clue. _‘I may be the princess of pop but long live the King. Where should we get hitched in a town like this?’_ Oh fuck. I think I know where this is headed.”

After a short debate and some quick Googling, they deducted the most logical next location. Vegas had a plethora of wedding chapels, mostly concentrated in between North Vegas and Downtown, but there was also a chapel in every major resort. Multiple ones, sometimes. First, Kent tried searching for chapels that offered Elvis presided marriage services. There were too many to try to narrow down.

Thankfully, Scraps cut through their drunken ponderings with a shout.

“GRACELAND!” They all turned and looked at him, grinning wide as he turned his screen to face the group. “Graceland Wedding Chapel. Best for Wedding of Elvis. Big rating.”

“ _Ughhh_ , this is such an annoying clue. We’re gonna waste so much time if we’re not right,” Jeff complained. Scraps’ proud smile dimmed a little at the lack of belief in his decision.

“He’s probably got it, though. Reading up, it seems to be the most iconic of the wedding chapels, even more so than the other Elvis themed ones,” Snowy added.

Kent scrolled through the suggestions on his maps app. All the appropriately themed chapels of the Presley variety appeared to be clustered around a few adjacent streets in the arts district, manageable enough to run between the handful of chapels if the well-known Graceland chapel turned out to be a false lead. After a quick debate, they agreed that there was no way Britney’s quest would bring them to some half-rate chapel. Go big or go home. They’d head to the iconic chapel and hope for the best. Onward, to Graceland. Time to get hitched.

No one in the group could agree on which way they’d entered the garden, still mainly deserted as they shouted over one another and pointed at the overhead direction signs. They agreed that the easiest exit was to head through the casino since the signs showed they they could get back to Las Vegas Boulevard if they cut through the game floor. Snowy tried to reason that it was all a conspiracy to confuse the average person into going to the casino in an effort to entice them to gamble and fall prey to distraction, which, yeah. Obviously. Kent swore that they were mentally strong enough to walk through without stopping, even going to far as to make Scraps promise not to disappear off to a table. They’d be fine. They were responsible adults with immense will power.

“Holy shit, I forgot this club was in the Bellagio. I can never get in that damn place.”

Jeff gestured to a cash out counter along the nearest wall, fairly nondescript, where cage cashiers were paying out winnings to a few lucky gamblers. Thin letters spelled out CASHIER across the tops of the barred windows while a smaller sign, flashing the words _The Vault_ , in typical glitzy neon, stood unique over the teller stall on the far right. It was the type of thing you wouldn’t notice unless you were specifically looking for it, blending into the typical atmosphere of a casino with no real insistence.

“That’s because you can never figure out the password phrase,” Kent said with a laugh.

“Oh, and you’ll get it right the fuck now? Yeah right.”

That was an unannounced challenge if he’d ever heard one. Don’t doubt Kent Parson, always up for proving people wrong. He’d gotten in the club before. Just gotta know how to play your cards. Or have the right connections.

Snowy complained about wasting time, yet again, as the group watched Kent saunter up to a security guard standing near the counter. They spoke in hushed words, exchanged a glance at the group of gaping bros, and shook hands. Kent motioned the staring group over once the guard walked away, irritatingly smug smirk etched across his face.

“Want to check it out?”

“How the fuck do you know how to get in?”

“My man here gave me intel in exchange for a coupla Bennies,” Jeff rolled his eyes. “What? Like you’ve never done shit to get in somewhere in town.”

“You’re such a douchebag, man.”

“Hey, cover at XS is forty on a slow night, this isn't that ridiculous.”

“Yeah. Well. Still can’t believe you.”

“Believe it, bro. We’re going to _The Vault_.”

“What is so special about this club? Where _is_ club?” Alexei asked, craning to look into the depths of the area behind the cash out counter. What was he missing?

“Exclusive. Not really any cheap tourists. It’s popular with a certain, uhhh, high roller crowd here. And locals who want to cut loose but not be bothered with anything tacky. There's a whole networking thing, I don't know. I've just bribed people.” He shrugged. “Not like I'm proud.”

“Is nice place. I like,” Scraps added. Kent bumped shoulders with him, knowingly. “I get in before, few times. Play cards, win a lot. Spend a lot. Staff invites me. Parser comes with few times. Have nice time.”

“Yeah, it’s a fuckin’ speakeasy with a DJ, that’s all it is,” Jeff interrupted, eager to go inside and stop listening to his teammates’ constant romanticizing of anything they considered cool.

“Dude, you were the one begging to go.”

“No, I only complained that they never let me in because I don’t know the damn passwords and I never gamble enough here to get tapped unlike _you_ two. Fuck. Just fucking get us in, Parse. If that’s what we’re doing now. I need another fucking drink...”

“Fine.”

He didn’t understand why Jeff was acting like such an asshole, on his case about every little thing. They usually clicked so well, constantly in sync for the night’s schemes just as well as they meshed on the ice. Was it the additional company? The way Kent had behaved earlier? Let it go. It wasn’t fair.

Kent slid up to the counter with the flashing sign and flashed his own megawatt smile to the teller behind the bars. He’d done this a few times before, played along with the admittedly ridiculous little show, but he still felt foolish doing so. The whole idea of having to give a password, to follow certain steps for admittance to a club was simultaneously kind of cool and kind of horribly lame. The concept had fallen so far from discreetly hiding away booze in the age of prohibition. Now rich people pretended they were doing something bad, something secret.

“I’m cashing out for the night,” he deadpanned. The teller looked up, face blank.

“Are we a winner tonight, sir?”

Kent sighed, steeling himself to play along and not laugh in want of making fun of the over-the-top procedure.

“Luck was on my side. I need a drink to celebrate.”

There. Just let him in. End the game.

“We can help you with that.”

Thank god.

The teller pressed a buzzer and the guard walked over to open a door next to the cash out area, previously unnoticed for how easily it blended as a random staff door, unremarkable but for an off-color **V** center-set. The guard waved Kent and his entourage inside, shutting the door behind them.

They walked down a short hallway, coming to a bend in the path that revealed a set of long escalators, chandeliers overhead as music drifted from the floor above. It was all so over the top, the kind of place that made you feel like you were somebody important before it emptied your wallet and your morals, unaware of what was happening. It was Vegas at its peak. Once at the top, it looked like any other high-end Vegas club -- dark paneling, gold highlights, and flashing lights cutting through the darkness while beautiful people milled about with drinks in hand. A house DJ spun high above it all, watching over the controlled debauchery.

“This place is pretty fuckin’ sweet, man. Good call,” Jeff decided, arm tight around Kent’s shoulders. He smiled wide as a hostess approached the group. Kent conversed with her briefly, slipping her his credit card with a smirk that promised trouble.

“I don’t see what’s so different about this one. Same over-processed music, smells like an ashtray, fuckin’ dark as shit but not dark enough to hide the unrelenting tackiness...”

Snowy wasn’t impressed. Surprise, surprise.

“Is better because it is _exclusive_ ,” Alexei joked. “Welcome to Vegas.”

“I hate this fucking sad excuse of a town.”

“Awww, thanks! And we’re so glad to have you! Follow me!” The girl mocked, latching on to Snowy’s arm and pulling him close with a sassy flip of her hair. He shut up and allowed himself to be led to a VIP area on the far side of the club, the rest of the group following behind and loudly chirping him to hell and back.

Everything descended rapidly downhill from there.

A tray of shots appeared at their table no sooner than they’d situated themselves, disappearing just as quickly. In a blink, Scraps was pouring out a second round from the bottles the hostess dropped off after finding that calling and relying on refills wasn’t cutting it. They ditched their jackets, hot as the alcohol flowed and warmed them. Glasses clinked as they toasted each other for whatever the fuck flitted into their minds. Sweet game plays and highlight snipes. Great choice in shoes. They roasted each other over things like Scraps’ embarrassing fight to a Jets player a few games back or Kent’s infamous fumbling post-game interview earlier in the season that had made the social media rounds relentlessly.

“Cheers to Kent’s Miami fuckin’ Vice suit tonight!”

“Yeah? Well cheers to your dirt stain stache attempt.” He laughed loud in Jeff’s face while jokingly trying to wipe off the ugly thing, getting shoved away for good measure.

“At least I can fuckin’ grow fuckin’ grow facial hair, captain baby.”

“Captain baby? All you can come up with is _captain baby_? You’re fuckin’ wasted, man.”

“Man, I'm fucking _trashed_.”

"Cheers to that!"

They laughed and laughed and tried to touch shot glasses again, missing completely and ending up with most of the liquid down their arms and on the table.

“Are they going to be ok?” Alexei asked Scraps as Kent began unbuttoning his shirt, using it to mop up the vodka that had spilled on the table while Jeff continued to laugh himself into near cardiac arrest.

Scraps shook his head, answering in their native tongue. “They always do this. Not a night out in a club if one of them doesn’t lose a shirt or make a total ass of himself. Sometimes both. Best to drink and ignore, enjoy our free entertainment. They’ll be too drunk for anything more than slumping over the booth soon enough.”

“Uh, cheers to being able to hold our liquor so much better?”

“I’ll drink to that.” They downed their shots. “Another round?”

“If we can’t stop them, join them. Right?”

* * *

There was a large mitt of a hand petting his hair. His head was spinning. The room was spinning. Kent stared at the ceiling, feeling weightless and so full of dizzy joy it threatened to burst from him. He wanted more, wanted everything. The hand gently tracing his patterns on his scalp drew him back to the booth and out of his own mind, worldview narrowing down to the gentle, intoxicating sensations.

“Hey. What are you doing, Al?”

“Al? No, no. Not good nickname. Not like Al.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

Alexei giggled and continued his exploration of the wild blond strands.

“You grow hair out, yes? Is longer than usual. What, thinking is playoffs already? Season just start,” he teased.

“I. Well, I’m on a point streak, so. Trying something different.” Admitting his superstitions made him feel slightly vulnerable. “It’s… lucky.”

“You funny guy. Vegas captain needs even more luck, hmm?”

“Shut the fuck up, _Al_.”

“Ssssh. Not like Al. I am like your hair. So fluffy. Is like mister Beiber.”

“ _What_.” Kent reared back, hoping he’d heard wrong.

“I see picture in magazine one time, not know why but I am staring at your hair now and it reminded me. Have same hair.”

“No! No I do not.”

God, Kent hated that little shit. Always showing up to charity games and making a spectacle of himself, trying to befriend players like him when he spent time in LA, trying to brush elbows with guys at the private training rinks just because he was Canadian and could lace up his skates. Like it made him unique. Always dragging a trail of paparazzi with him when guys like Kent were just trying to train in the off-season. Throwing really lame parties Kent seriously regretted being seen at. He had a huge grudge against the little shit.

And he’d never forgive the dickwad for what he’d done to poor Selena, time and time again.

“He’s such a fucking try-hard douche.”

“With same hair.”

“Fuck you! I’m so much better looking! I’m… I’m blonder! This hair takes work. He’s a damn disaster.”

Alexei shushed him, hands returning to stroke back the better looking, blonder hair from Kent’s forehead. Hopefully he could smooth over this apparent faux pas painlessly. He moved both hands to cradle Kent’s jaw as he pouted. Such a diva.

“Ok. Yes, you win. Are better looking.”

“Thank you.”

“Isn’t such bad thing that I say.” Kent groaned and pushed Alexei’s hands away. “Was thinking I paid you compliment! He is popular cute guy.”

“Bro! I am so much better looking than Justin-fucking-bland-ass-Canadian-shitshow-Beiber.”

The entire group was staring at him following the outburst. Kent frowned, shook his hair out from the mess Alexei had made of it, and swiped one of the bottles from the nearest table. He took a long swig while glaring back at all the concerned eyes tracking his movements, contemplating his sanity.

“Ya alright there, bud?” Jeff slurred, fully ready to reassure his boy of whatever he needed to hear after distressing comparisons to loathed pop celebrities. Kent waved him off and continued downing pulls straight from the bottle, hiding his wince at the sting as it went down. The shit was rough as he’d declined going for anything top shelf. He’d blown enough money just getting them in and bottle service was already a rip-off before you got picky with your liquor. 

Wasn't like he couldn't afford it, but it was the principle of the thing at these pretentious clubs. 

The chatter from the girls resumed and the guys went back to trying to impress them. Kent leaned back into the booth, bumping shoulders and knees with Alexei. Keeping up with the conversation was barely feasible with a brain feeling like slush and the room spinning again. It didn’t deter his weightless joy. He felt so unbelievably fantastic. His song was playing.

“My song’s playing? Yo, my song is playing. This is my jam.”

The beat drifted, far enough from the dance floor that you could hear yourself think but still feel the reverb in the surroundings. Ariana crooned and Kent pulled his leaden limbs up from the booth, snapping into action. It was his jam, could you blame him? He navigated around the tables and chairs and pointed to one of the bottle girls lingering around the rest of the group. She’d been swaying to the beat and Kent was in need of a dance partner.

“Me?”

“You. Let’s dance.” He smiled and shimmied, arms up as he mouthed along with the lyrics.

She was taller than Kent in her heels, but what else was new? His grace from earlier, back at the Marquee, had long left as the drinks piled on, but watching him move was still just as captivating. Albeit in a different way. He really didn't care, completely enraptured by a favorite song and someone equally as enthused to be jumping around and writhing to the music. Kent and the girl moved together, smiling and letting hands wander of their own accord, a combination of moves better suited to bad backup dancers as well as brief moments of pure heat. A little bit scandalous and that’s just how he wanted it.

Alexei watched the show with blood boiling. He wanted so badly to cut in and take over, pull Kent to him and dance together like they briefly already had. So he stared and stared and willed himself to behave.

His face must have given away his turmoil and jealousy, spotted when Kent spun his direction. All he got in return was a wink and a curling finger, beckoning him to join the group’s impromptu dance party in the VIP lounge. He shook his head and fixed his gaze on watching the crowds off across the room.

“Lame. Just gonna sit here? With whatever the fuck that expression is on your face?”

The song ended, fading into a standard EDM mix, and Kent flung himself back down to occupy the space next to Alexei. The girl cast him a dejected glance like she wanted and expected more from him. Realizing he'd quickly moved on, she rejoined the others. Kent stretched his arms along the back of the booth and grinned wildly up at the ceiling. Sweat dripped from where his bangs stuck up. He was panting and flushed with eyes glowing in that sort of drunken celebration that led to trouble.

“You're so… I don't know word. So-”

“Having a great night? Definitely what I am. What I'm doing.” He suggested. “Everyone was dancing, still are. You can join.”

“No. You are big tease.”

“ _Tease_? A tease? Pssh.” He turned to face Alexei and lowered his voice, soft and sincere. “If I could follow through, you know I would.”

It was too much. Their back and forth, hot and cold game had driven Alexei too far up the wall and he needed desperately to come back down, feel solid ground under his feet. Kent smirked and waited for a response, challenging him with those infuriating eyes. They were weird. Alexei swore he watched them change color. He couldn’t stop looking at them and Kent fucking knew, he _knew_ he had him there in his grasp. If only he could actually do something about it.

Alexei fought back a groan. “Parson, what you want?” His tone wasn't playful.

“What? What do I _want_?”

“Yes. What do you want from me? All night, drive me so crazy,” he pleaded, almost a whisper.

Kent swallowed thickly, shivering at the flipping sensation in his stomach from the intensity of the gaze resting on him.

“I… we shouldn't. We really shouldn’t.”

“I fucking know that. I know…”

They stared each other down, a faceoff of wills, with new electricity crackling in the air. Kent's smile faded. He was still attempting to catch his breath from the wild dancing and he had a feeling that it wouldn't happen anytime soon. Kent flicked his eyes down and saw how forcefully Alexei was clenching his fist in his lap, fighting back any sudden movements that would shatter their heavy moment.

“So,” Kent drew out, “what do you want to do?”

Kent slid a hand cautiously onto Alexei’s knee, squeezing gently for lack of being able to do much else. The resulting sharp intake of breath changed everything he’d been avoiding. He didn't quite know exactly what kind of ill-judged, reckless thing he was about to do as he felt himself leaning forward, but Alexei jolted to attention as the rest group suddenly cheered and called Kent’s name. Jeff pushed through the small group and yanked Kent from the booth, out of his daze. Shit. Another one of ‘his songs.’ This was an even more important track.

“IT’S BRITNEY, BITCH! Right?? You love this one!”

“God, how are they playing this one right now?” He said, breathless, disbelief apparent in his weak laughter.

It was too cruel, too senselessly perfect and terrible. Too sensual. It was the trashy anthem of wanting to engage in depraved, reckless things in a dark club as all eyes were on you.

Alexei couldn't handle one more fucking moment.

Entirely too reminiscent of his typical gameplay, he grabbed Kent by the arm and shoved through the group. He called out _‘dance floor_ ’ and barreled through the club with Kent in tow on his single-minded mission. It felt very familiar. He'd done this not long before - grab the drunken guy out of a booth and slam him against the wall. Solid plan.

“Hey, you missed the dance floor. The fuck are you dragging me to?”

He didn't dignify that with an answer and ignored the rest of Kent's whiny complaints as he searched for an empty hallway, some alcove, _anything_. Somewhere dark and away from the bustle and appearing quick before he lost his nerve. These Vegas clubs felt like a fishbowl, a trap. There were no places to hide, no exit doors to escape out into a dark alley with how securely carved they were into the depths of monstrous resorts. No clocks, no mirrors, no windows. They never wanted you to leave and never wanted you to be aware of any shred of reality.

The hallway leading to the bathrooms was clear, thankfully no pesky attendant or whoever to make things difficult. Alexei pulled Kent forward once more, letting the man stagger a second before pinning him against the wall, not unlike the heat of a game where he'd slam the annoying, irritating rat against the boards. Kent gasped, eyes blown dark as his back hit the wall. His eyes glinted with want momentarily before gaining his wits and grabbing Alexei by the collar of his shirt with both hands, forcing him still.

“Wait, stop. This is a shitty idea. We're like, too out there, you know?”

Alexei let his hands fall to Kent's waist, stopped in his path of madness but unable to completely pry himself away.

“Sorry, sorry. Losing my mind,” he huffed out a laugh. “Not thinking.”

“Used to it by now. Often have that effect,” he said and stupidly winked. Alexei sighed. Why was he into this fool? Why. He was such an ass.

“Should walk away, you know. Save myself trouble.”

“ _Or_ do what you really want and head into that bathroom literally ten feet away.”

* * *

 

The reflection staring back at him looked wild, ravished, and they'd barely done anything yet. Yellow wasn't a good tone on him but there was nothing he could do about the weird, dim bathroom lighting drowning him out. The last time he'd been in that same back of the club Vault bathroom he'd been running eight miles high after an insane poker run on the floor, nose pressed to the granite counter as he'd gotten even higher. The residual muscle memory jolted him back to the present, hyper-aware of his every breath and twitch.

He took a deep breath, one after another in anticipation as his hands braced against the sink. Alexei slid up behind him, finally done fiddling with the latch high on the door to give them complete privacy, if it would hold.

“Now for sure alone. Hope management doesn't bust door down,” he joked, mouth hot against Kent's ear and hard where he pressed against him from behind.

“We’ll be fine.” He whipped his head up, eyes locking on Alexei’s in the mirror, head resting from over his shoulder. He started to laugh a little, shifting his hips back. “I think we're alone now. _Doesn't seem to be anyone around_.”

“Are you… singing?”

“Ha. Don't worry about it.”

Enough of the waiting, the buildup. He could tell that Alexei was second guessing himself now that everything they'd been tiptoeing around was a tangible reality. His hands rested light at Kent's waist, expression worried and soft. It was endearing, how swiftly his demeanor had changed, how shy he was being with Kent, unsure of what he was allowed. Kent was ready for everything, if that's what he wanted.

“Don't know when we’ll have that door barged open, so,” Kent shrugged, one final and subtle indication that if Alexei needed an out, this was his chance. Fingers tightened slightly on his hips and that was all the positive indication Kent needed.

He spun at the counter, breaking away, and rushed towards one of the stalls, one hand fisted in Alexei’s crisp white shirt to drag him along. They stumbled into the stall, slamming the heavy wood door behind them, the right level of unnecessary opulence that would be perfect to be crushed against, able to withstand the strain. He'd broken open a fair few flimsy stall doors in seedier places during the heat of the moment. Made for a fun story, to those he could tell.

The latch clicked and Alexei was back in action, determined and confident as he crowded Kent against the door and finally, finally, leaned in and crashed lips together. It was nearly a mimic of their first kiss, only hours earlier. The incident felt eons away, disconnected entirely from who they both were then in that moment.

They kissed hard, aggressive, impatient after so much pent up want over the course of the evening. Alexei couldn't get enough of the hot and wet, sloppy slide of their mouths and heavy breaths, drunk on so much more than the excess they'd imbibed so heavily. Strong hands cradled Kent's jaw and he savored every whimper and needy noise between them. He nearly yelped when he felt a less than gentle tug at his hair but oh, it was pointless to deny how much he was into that.

“You can do that again. I like it. M’not delicate,” Kent said against Alexei’s parted lips, flicking out his tongue and receiving a growl.

He leaned into the hand in his hair, nipping at the slack jawed expression on Alexei’s face. Alexei got the memo and tightened his grip, pulling Kent’s head sideways to latch onto his neck, kissing hard at the juncture of his jaw. He absolutely shouldn't be wishing it, a terrible idea, but he hoped Alexei left a mark. He could already feel the sting as he pulled away to continue kissing and kissing Kent with an apparent disregard for air. Their entire reality reduced to the pressure of mouth on mouth and the rather indecent noises they were struggling to contain.

Alexei broke away to ask Kent something, but it was too low and gravelly and Kent didn't even think it was in English. He numbly nodded his head and pressed back to resume his mission to get  Alexei to whimper like he had again with a tricky application of tongue. He succeeded with a rewarding moan just as one of those delightfully large hands slid down to his ass and squeezed, hard. When his knee slotted between Alexei’s parted legs in reaction, Kent knew exactly what he wanted to do next. Didn't think he'd get any complaints when he tried, either.

He grabbed the hand still clenched in his hair and guided it down, pressing Alexei’s palm to cup him through his pants. He captured the reactionary gasp with a filthy open-mouthed kiss, turning into too much teeth as they grinned and swore against each other.

“Feel that? You like that? All because of you.”

“Yeah, what you want? Feel so good.” He didn't know what he was doing but Alexei was willing to try anything, if Kent led the way, told him what to do.

Kent released his hand and returned the favor instead, squeezing Alexei’s cock and toying with the straining zipper. He glanced at Alexei’s eyes, so, so dark and unfocused as he rubbed and teased. He finally eased the zipper down and pulled him out to give a few slow strokes, quickening his pace as Alexei’s breath hitched in time.

“How's this? You want this? I love how you sound right now,” Kent mumbled against his mouth, letting every filthy thought spill. “You're so fucking hot, feel so big.”

“ _Kent_ ,” he whined as the hand around his cock slowed, teasing and loose.

“Yeah? You want more? Know what I want?” Kent released his grip and began playing with the buttons on Alexei's shirt, popping them open and indulging in one last, lingering kiss before taking the opportunity to break away and flip their positions, crowding him against the wall. “Wanna get my mouth on you. Now.”

Kent dropped hard to his knees, sparing a glance up at the panting mess of a man staring down in near reverent disbelief. He couldn't really hold the gaze long or he'd lose it himself, shuddering under the intensity. Kent bit and teased at the dark hair trailing from navel downwards, indulging in something he found incredibly hot, before taking Alexei back in hand and guiding him to his mouth to sink down slow. God, he loved this. The desperate sounds from above, the twitch of fingers at his scalp deciding if it was ok to grab, the tensing of strong, thick thighs as he bobbed his head and swirled his tongue. The stretch as he pushed his limits. It felt amazing to have the chance to completely wreck someone. He'd wanted to reduce Alexei to this for the better part of the evening, ever since they'd stood too close at the Bellagio Fountains and he'd felt the stirrings of lust cloud his mind.

From Kent's vantage point, narrowed down to base sensations, Alexei made it sound like it was the best he'd ever gotten. True or not, Kent was trying his damn best to make it so. Shaky fingers carded through his hair, still too timid to really grab and pull. It was exhilarating, having someone so responsive and knowing everything he was doing was exactly what the other needed. Kent wanted to make it last, draw it out, but they were on borrowed time before someone either interrupted them or went searching.

He could hear Alexei warn him that he was close and could feel the light grip on his hair tighten, so he went all in, held nothing back. He got sloppier, messier, the faster and further he tried to take him, too big to try anything overly ambitious or go much deeper. Kent's jaw ached like crazy and he felt sloppy with saliva, but he knew it wouldn't go on much longer, not with the steady stream of curses and nonsense flowing above. Kent braced an arm across Alexei's hips to keep him in place and sucked hard, moaning around his cock when he finally felt him come.

The loud thump was Alexei’s head hitting the stall door, the only thing keeping him upright as Kent swallowed and swallowed around him, keeping on until he was gently batted away when it became too much. Kent stood slowly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still near painfully hard himself. He guided Alexei and his wobbly legs to sit down on top of the toilet, essentially incapable of standing.

Kent straddled his hips and leaned down for a lazy, slow kiss, savoring the difference between the current softness and their frantic beginning. Alexei traced his finger across his slick, swollen lips and leaned in again, kissing even more gently.

“Was… wow,” Alexei said. He didn't have much more to say. Wasn't feeling very articulate. “You, uh, you want, too?”

He made a rather crude hand gesture with his hand and mouth, as if he hadn't just gotten blown moments ago in that very stall. Kent snickered and nuzzled up under his jaw, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Nah, no offense,” he said in between soft kisses pressed under Alexei’s ear, “but we don't have time for an impromptu blowjob lesson after all that. Just jerk me off. Won't take long.”

He laughed and got to work on Kent's zipper.

“Ok. Think I can figure that out.”

“Wait, unbutton my shirt. I'm wearing black and that'll be an even more obvious mess than we already are.”

“Will do, captain.”

Kent smiled and shivered at the feel of one of those huge hands he was becoming very obsessed with wrap around him. He canted his hips up to meet Alexei in time with his strokes, keeping a running dialogue going as get got off.

“ _Fuck,_  that's so fucking hot. Call me captain, again, ‘Lexei. Shit, that's good.”

Alexei laughed and kissed him hard with a quick twist of his wrist, causing Kent to moan loud in that whiny voice of his and wrap his arms tighter around him.

“Ssssh. Think I like you better with mouth full. Big improvement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -gimme more and into you pretty much played in rotation while i was editing this. hell yeah hell yeah  
> -the vault isn't a real club. i made it up. combination i guess of 'the bank' in bellagio, that club chuck bass opened in gossip girl, and this weird speakeasy in my city that i felt like an ass giving a password to but i fuckin did it anyway.  
> -time is an illusion in this fic. is this obvious by now?


	6. what's the point of language if you don't say what you mean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you ever had so much to drink and done so many drugs and had so many problems and you can’t even trust your own thoughts and emotions and actions because you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing or even what you want??? have you ever been a walking contradiction? that’s parse here. 
> 
> please go listen to 'doses and mimosas' 30 times 
> 
> i've rewritten this chapter 3 times now and i still am not entirely fond of it but hey, i haven't posted in months but i've finally gotten my life together and i'm #thriving so it was interesting to get back to writing characters who are soooo not. happy 2019

“Get yourself together. Come on. We've gotta go.” 

A good thing could only last so long before it inevitably caught up with him, the reminder looming that he’d made a very big mistake. Mistakes sprung from cloudy minds and from behind closed doors. Mistakes came from a lack of forethought and letting your guard down with people who shouldn’t be so readily trusted.

The trap was so easy to fall into when it was endearing and attractive and right  _ there _ as an unfair temptation. He’d barely had to work for this one. And now came the fall, the crash that followed when the high of having something he shouldn’t have wore off. 

The situation had festered into an anxious itch under his skin, an all too-familiar paranoia bounding into this moment of clarity. He really should have known better and he never fucking learned. Alexei had a hand on his back. It should have felt like a comfort but it weighed heavy and suffocating. Kent called to Jeff again and flinched away, but not far enough. He needed to breathe, needed to make his way outside and  _ move _ . Kent’s sobriety had fallen to a wholly intolerable level if they were going to linger at  _ The Vault _ any longer. And they weren’t. 

“Why’re you all worked up? What's goin’ on? The hell’d you wander off to for so long? Thought you'd dipped out on us,” Jeff asked, eyes severely unfocused and unsteady on his feet. Kent let him brace himself against his arm. Dude was about to fall over. 

“Don't worry about that.” Images flashed in his mind of the debauchery from the bathroom. The ache in his jaw and the strange hollow feeling that always followed tears in his eyes reminded him that he wasn’t yet far enough removed from a desperate decision. Kent hoped his face didn't betray him by blushing too deeply. “We just gotta fuckin’ ditch. Been here too long.”

“Places to be,” Alexei added, trying not to stare too hard or too long at the blatantly obvious, ugly red mark on Kent's neck. Not ugly to him, though. He wanted to touch it, force Kent’s attention back on him. Maybe press his mouth back in and bite, just to see what kind of noise Kent would make. He’d never had a problem managing these thoughts, these urges before, keeping his eyes where they belonged. 

When you’ve finally had a fix after denying yourself for so, so long, could you really be blamed for forming an obsession? A need? 

“Right, right. Where’re we going next?” Jeff asked. 

“Uh, Graceland Chapel, remember? God, how much did you fucking drink?” Kent said as Jeff stumbled and flat out tripped over the table in a quick attempt to go round up the others.  _ Thought I was bad but damn, bro.  _

Kent took a pull from a near empty bottle, no clue what he was even drinking. Might as well resume the damage, soak his nerves a little before they headed out. 

Scraps wandered over, blissfully grinning and slurring some Russian nonsense to Alexei, clapping big hands on big shoulders. Alexei nodded along, totally lost, and tossed Kent a look that clearly said  _ please save me from this madman.  _ Kent ignored him, too busy watching the struggle Jeff faced in untangling Snowy from the girl he was latched onto. Like super glue. At the mouth. It was captivatingly filthy, yet hilarious to parties uninvolved as Jeff pleaded and pried. The girl, taller than Snowy by at least a head, finally pulled away with a displeasing wet sound, leaving her hot pink lipstick smeared obscenely over the lower part of Snowy’s face. Alexei hooted and hollered and snapped the evidence of a good time.

“Someone really needs to delete that fucking app from your phone,” Kent critiqued as he watched Alexei add a caption and send the evidence of his goalie’s future regrets out into the wilds of the web. 

“Why? Is so funny. Friends have good laugh at one another. Is ok.” 

“Don’t think he’ll he’ll be laughing tomorrow when that shit’s reposted all over some shitty fan blogs.” 

Alexei waved a dismissive hand at him to show his lack of concern. He ditched the scolding to go chat with Ivan and head for the club exit. Time to move on. 

They burst from the club with the fury of renewed purpose and alcohol buzzing through their veins. Jeff kept up a steady stream of chirps directed towards Snowy who sulked and pretended he couldn't hear. 

Again, irritating to a group in need of speed in pursuit of their destination, they struggled through crowds lingering in front of the damn Bellagio Fountains. God, this town made Kent feel so hot and cold. The fleeting fresh perspective from earlier about the most common tourist traps were now like gum on the bottom of his shoe. Kent pushed through herds of drunk and giggling girls and late-night sightseers and street performers trying to panhandle a dollar from any gullible passerby. He shoved a shitty rental suit version of some sesame street monster out of his way and beelined towards the street overpass blessedly looming ahead. Fuck this noise. 

“Kenny, slow down. Is rush but not need running there,” Alexei breathlessly pleaded. 

He wound an arm around Kent, halting his fast stride and pulling him closer to wait as the others caught up. His touch was lingering, and erring on the side of gentle that spoke volumes about how much Alexei was planning to prolong it. 

Kent wrenched away, shrugging roughly to readjust his coat, and continued towards the escalator. Thank god it was up and running. The damn things were nearly always broke down and he just wanted to stand still for a moment and fume in peace, collect his bearings.

Alexei lingered in his personal space, a hand heavy on his lower back yet again as they ascended into the world above the busy streets. Why did he insist on holding him? Kent pushed his hand off and turned sharply away. 

That stung. Alexei frowned and tugged on Kent’s sleeve to get his attention.

Kent snapped. 

“Bro. Stop fucking touching me, yeah?” 

He stormed up the last few steps before the escalator bled into concrete and turned into the glass-walled overpass. Everything was burning, too hot and too constricting. The lights of the Strip reflected on either side, bouncing and mixing with car headlights below and glaring at him like a thousand intrusive eyes, a million reasons to run away as fast as he could. All the while, abandoning Alexei to smolder behind him, the heaviest gaze of them all, burning out.

Swoops caught up to Kent and sensed something was off. The other three trailed behind, Scraps and Snowy still blitzed out of their damn minds with Alexei doing an outstanding impression of a man holding it together. 

“You alright?” 

“I'm fine,” Kent spat out, pace slowed but eyes fixed ahead. 

“You don’t exactly look it. Mad tense.” 

“I don’t really- we’ll talk about it later.”

“Did,” Jeff paused, huffing out a deep breath, “did  _ something _ happen at the club.”

The disapproval and disappointment in his voice was obvious. Kent wanted to hit something. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Jeff. Later.”

Getting nowhere in his efforts to make Kent admit his failings, Jeff shrugged and strode ahead, not letting it dim his buzz. He called the others to press onwards. Scraps and Snowy, laughing loud, caught up with him to leave Kent trailing with the one person he was trying to avoid. Which was rather impossible to do with a group as small as theirs and with someone as insistent as Alexei. 

The three not currently involved in a crisis broke off to get more drinks at a small stand just inside the overpass corridor inside Bally’s before they crossed over the walkway toward the Flamingo. Alexei took this as his chance to pull Kent aside and demand answers. Demand what, exactly? He wasn’t sure what he should be angling for once he had Kent cornered. An apology, an explanation?  _ Anything _ . He was pissed. 

Again,  _ yet again _ , Kent pulled back with much more drama than was totally necessary. 

“Dude, stop grabbing at me!” he yelled and threw all his weight into an off-ice body check. 

Alexei wasn’t having it and breezed past humoring the guy. He shoved back as good as he was given, brow set in frustration. Kent stumbled and steadied himself with hands fisted in that ugly blue suit jacket fit so nicely on the absolute boulder of a man before him. His expression was hard, nearly closed off. At the sight, Alexei softened. He ran his hands gently down Kent’s harsh grip and calmly pulled them away, mouth a perfect frown. This was a mess. 

“Only want to talk,” he muttered, voice even and still. 

“Fine. Make it quick, they’ll be back soon,” his eyes darted towards Jeff and the boys loudly figuring out which shots they were going to throw back. 

The stoic bartender manning the stand stood blank in the face, immune to the douchey behavior that guys like them always brought to places like that. Standard practice from the type of person who would stop at that sort of ridiculous stand. If alcohol wasn’t within a ten foot accessible reach, were you really in Vegas?

Alexei slammed a hand against the wall, taking a deep breath as Kent continued to scan the area. It was pretty deserted. 

“No one here but us. No one even here and you won’t talk but totally fine jumping me in bar at Cosmo. You start this, Parson. Not me.”

“That was! That was… really fucked up.” He did have an unfortunate point. It was reckless. His first mistake of the longest night in existence, apparently. “That was bad. I shouldn't have done that.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah! My first mistake tonight of many!”

“Not understanding you, why you act like this. Really not.” 

Admitting he was wrong wasn’t a strength, wasn’t easy. And this? He didn’t even know what to call all of this gigantic mess. Where should he start? 

“Look, ok. This is really, really stupid. But, uh, I guess seeing Jack made me lose all sense of judgement earlier. I don't know what the fuck happened back there. I don’t. And I'm sorry. I've got… I’ve got some fuckin issues, man. Don't wanna drag you into my mess. Savor the moment we had and move on. It was fun, it was weird. You gotta stop.” 

“That what you do? When you have chance to, uh, maybe try something, like,  _ you know _ . Brave? Make decision and then try to take it back?” His face turned to the ground, cast away but giving away all the pain evident in his stance anyway. With a voice too small from his hulking figure he mumbled, “Too late. I can’t take back.”

“Don’t throw around words like  _ brave _ and imply shit like that, like you’re so right and so much wiser and that you fucking know how I’m feeling. It’s not fair, it’s not helpful.”

Kent felt for him, he really did. The look on his face made him ache. Their situations were kindred but so very different, and he didn’t know how to explain that, not aloud at least. Not in the brief span of time they had before they were remembered. He wanted to tell Alexei what he wanted to hear - wanted to say it and  _ mean _ it, too. In another life maybe, but…

“I know what happened tonight wasn’t your fault, wasn’t mine either. We had fun. We let our guard down. Took it too far. Who fucking knows what we were thinking, but,” he continued on a sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m just fucking sorry I’m like this. And sorry for both of us, really. It’s shit.” 

“Sorry? Is how you want to leave this, that’s it? You say unfair? Well, that is what not fair. Oh well, now you regret. Ok! But, still everything happen. Why pretend we didn’t? Is just us talking?” 

“God damn, forget everything else,” he lowered his voice, “do you really obsess over every fucking hook-up you’ve ever had? Leave it at that and move on, man. Just stop making it so damn obvious what happened, yeah? Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

Alexei let out a harsh breath through his nose as he stared upwards, eyes fixed on the ceiling above and trying to fight the warring emotions he was feeling. How could one tiny, insufferable moron of a man make him sway wildly between wanting to deck his face and wrap him up in a kiss that perfectly communicated everything he was trying to get across. It wasn’t his fault! He had his own set of issues, too. Kent picked the wrong guy to drag to the bathroom for a one-and-done type of arrangement. No one warned him. 

“Don’t understand why you act so ashamed. Was not awful thing, be with each other. I know that. I can keep secret. Sorry I touch so much, ask so much right away. But you also can stop acting like such asshole.”

Kent threw his hands up, at his wit’s end. “I- look. I don’t know what you want me to say. Just like, yeah. That’s all I can do. Yeah, we can’t take it back but we can stop obsessing over everything and move on. It's called surviving.”

“Seems like, can never be happy. Not like this.”

Kent’s responding bark of a laugh startled them both. They both glaced across the corridor after the sudden outburst and frowned at how unfunny the entire situation was. 

“Ha. What the fuck? Are you kidding me, happy? Who said anything about being happy? In this world? This league? Being happy’s not the fucking point.” 

Alexei sighed and rolled his eyes at that. It wasn’t worth debating anymore. The others were sated and re-inebriated and heading their way. He asked one more question, quiet as they started to walk onwards to their next destination. 

“Who… who know?” 

He almost ignored him but figured he owed Alexei at least one last indulgence after his outbursts and general dickish demeanor. 

“About what we did? Us, obviously. Fuckin’ hope that’s all.”

“No. About.  _ You _ . You know.” Ah. The forbidden word itself, flashing in his mind like so many of the neons lining the street -  _ GAY GAY GAY _ , gaudy and mocking. Kent subtly pointed to Jeff. Alexei’s eyes widened. “That is all?”

“My sister, too. One of my brothers knows,  _ I think _ , but like. It is what it is. Honestly don’t know what Scraps knows. He’s a good guy and he’s gone out with us a few times where I probably made and ass of myself like tonight, but we’ve literally never talked about it. Um,”  _ Jack _ . That didn’t need to be said aloud. “Bout it.” 

He could have asked about Alexei, about his personal situation, but he didn’t. He didn't want to get involved any further. He couldn't stop himself from blabbering on but at least he could salvage an attempt at avoidance. Ignorance in hoping nothing further would pass between them.

“Hmm. Aren't you lonely?” 

“Nope.” He had his encounters in dark clubs and hotels when he could swing it. He had his memories of a time long ago, when things felt so simple and so guaranteed to last forever. 

“Is ok,” Alexei laughed. “I'm lonely too.” 

With that, he pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and caught up with the others, demanding a drink of whatever they’d gathered from the stand. Kent was left to follow in the wake, trying not to fume too hard at the final comment. What did Alexei know anyway? One lurid encounter with another dude and all the sudden he’s an expert on navigating the intricacies of being a non-straight man in the league? Fucking incredible. Why couldn’t he have simply made a fool of himself at the bar in the cosmo, planting one on some stranger and then paying him off or whatever? Better yet, why couldn’t he have acted like a normal persona and had a conversation with Jack like a mature adult, totally in control of his life and his emotions? Why was he like this? 

He clenched his fists hard, nails pressed deep into his palms as he fought down the hot, heavy weight of self-deprecation threatening to boil over. Every little thing he did was so damn wrong all the time. It wasn’t fair. He knew better.

Why didn’t he know better? 

“Hey man, you look tense as fuck.” Snow drawled out, smoke spilling from his lips as he slid up beside Kent. “Want a hit?”

He held out a joint, lit and ready to ease some of the turmoil and stress so very evident in Kent. Kent glanced warily between the joint and the face of the man offering it. Snowy snatched it back and took another long drag at the hesitation, not wanting to waste good shit. 

Eyes narrowed, Kent asked, “Is this a goalie thing? Are all of you weird fucks potheads? Our guy’s a damn smokestack.”

“Better than the old timers chugging beers in between periods,” Jeff offered, listening to their conversation. 

“Nah, those were the days. Those guys were nuts. Didn’t give a fuck. Legendary,” Snowy droned as he took another toke with a fond smile. “So, do you want one? I got a baggie full. Rolled a few fresh ones back in that weird bank lookin’ club we just left.”

“What, with all the spare time you had while you were mouth-glued to that chick?” Jeff teased. 

“Did you buy pot off some guy in the club?” Kent asked, incredulous despite the fact that he’d lived a much wilder life than that thus far. Thus far that night, really.

“Nah. Hit up a dispensary after the game. Bless Nevada’s lax view on, _ well _ , practically fuckin’ everything. Your team may be full of shitheads living in this messy, hellish excuse of a city but I’m not gonna deny the fantastic little perks of visiting this lawless wasteland every once in a while.” 

Kent clapped a hand to his face, dragging across his eyes and pointedly ignoring most of the garbage Snowy was spewing, as well as ignoring the high pitched sputtering currently provided by a highly offended Jeff. 

Snowy laughed the arguments off and offered the joint to Kent one more time. Kent considered it and then shook his head to decline. It wasn’t really his thing, usually. Snowy scoffed judgmentally and took another hit.

“Suit yourself, man.”

“Isn’t that risky, though? What if you were seen going in there?”

Kent immediately know how much of a hypocrite the comment made him, especially going by the dozens of horrible decisions he personally had made that very same night, but Snowy didn’t know the context. That didn’t make the sentiment any less true, though. 

“One, it’s legal here. Two, worry the fuck about yourself, yeah? Don’t talk to me about discretion in indulging your immediate vices. Kent fucking Parson himself, scolding me about much lesser drug habits. Hysterical.”

“That means what, exactly?” Snowy laughed and put his hands up, trying to physically back away from the controversy he’d started. “No, no. By all means, continue with what you really want to say.” 

“I’m just saying, it’s a little unbelievable that you’re here so rudely chirping over me smoking a little legal as fuck weed.  You’ll readily do god knows what illicit shit in club bathrooms, but setting foot in a legal dispensary is suddenly so fuckin’ taboo.”

A stab of panic shot through him. God, he felt slightly ill. 

“Excuse me??” 

“Bro, you know how many tabloid pics there are of you on your little LA jaunts with a fuckin’ bloody nose outside some bullshit club, leering for the lens? Come on. Your rep  _ is what it fucking is _ by now. Don’t play innocent with me.”

“That’s… that’s so fucking warped,” he responded with less of his original heat and outrage. Although, how dare someone call him out on his very real bullshit! The nerve! Snowy was right though, unfortunately. And at least he was referring to a specific bad habit over his initial fear of being so easily and openly read. 

“Deny all you want, but people know how to read between the  _ lines _ . It’s not hard. I'm just saying, worry about yourself a bit more and let me enjoy this. I'm good. Very fuckin’ good.”

Harsh laughter followed smoke rings blown into his face by the pretentious asshole. Kent really, really wanted to hit him and his smug little scruffy face. 

“Parser, like, he’s kinda right though. You're def one to talk,” Jeff interjected, despite being better off keeping his mouth closed rather than rubbing salt into the wound. Too late, big mouth strikes again. 

“Holy shit, and who are you, then? You fuckin’ traitor. You’re not fuckin’ innocent in all this,” he mumbled, head shaking in continued annoyance. “Maybe take his advice and  _ worry about yourself _ . Scott, give me the damn thing.”

“I’m not judging you, man,” Jeff insisted, still not knowing when enough was enough. “You know I'm always down for whatever shit you drag me into but I gotta point out when you're hypocritically blasting a guy for way less.”

“Yeah, so I’m gonna hit this shit and you’re gonna shut the fuck up, kay? Like, for  _ anything  _ about me you feel the need to comment on. For the rest of the night. Yeah?” 

He rolled his eyes in exasperated argument. “I was only-” 

“Anything.” Kent's eyes narrowed, fixed on Jeff with words unspoken but intentions heavily implied.

He’d dealt with enough judgement, enough policing, enough thinly-veiled concern fronting what was actually total disapproval for the night - no - for _ a while _ . Jeff needed to shut his mouth and mind his business before Kent blew up and chipped away at yet another one of the precious few close relationships steady in his life. Internally, there was enough fighting to cover all the quotas. 

Jeff smirked and saluted, like a total ass, completely self-unaware. “Aye, aye captain.” 

Kent inhaled long and deep on the freshly lit joint Snowy had procured and passed over. It burned on the intake, heady and grounding as the raw sting spread over his throat and the effect of smoke filled his churning mind. Snowy hadn't been facetious - this was pretty good shit. He wasn’t a skilled connoisseur of the green, but he could tell at least that this wasn’t the typical shitty dirt weed he'd always resorted to smoking back in his juniors days. They were all millionaires, hence, it would be pretty fucking embarrassing if they shelled out for anything less than the best if they were going to take the risk. He exhaled, reveling in the smooth mellowing feeling washing over him in a wave. 

It felt nice in theory, but in practice he never quite liked himself under this sort of high. It was indulgent for a moment but weed was way too introspective, way too cerebral. The mellow was down, down, internal. Kent preferred to be up and away, far from himself. Somebody else, almost. When he resorted to those mood altering methods, he sought ways to run from his own head, his own buffet of insecurities. The hard shit, the free-flowing drinks at high class bars and the lightning fast escape courtesy of a line in the back of a club added something more than he was, changed him. Distracted him. He could never calm down on pot. 

Immediate regret meant nothing compared to his non-existent self control, especially when feeling the need to prove something to whatever audience cared to witness. He took another burning drag and fucking hated himself. More smoke was exhaled and he couldn't help the low sound of involuntary contentment he’d let slip, head tipped back as he watched the wisps rise into light-polluted sky above.

Alexei was staring at him again with those same hungry eyes he'd been plaguing Kent with since the damn Bellagio. He was staring like he wanted nothing more than to do anything to have him again. Fuck. They’d been over this. Very recently, with somewhat convincing arguments on both their parts. Why. Kent was fighting a losing battle. 

Don’t say he didn’t at least try. For however brief a moment. Well, if he was going to end up hating himself, he might as well go all the way. He never did anything by halves. 

“Hey, ‘Tates. You want a hit?” Kent asked, deeper and slower than intended, words sliding out like syrup. His voice sounded too far away to his own ears, like he was watching himself speak, but slightly to the side and hovering above. God, he was pathetic. A radiant being of charisma and manic confidence on coke but give him a few puffs of weed and he was completely tripping out, powerless to his own bodily reaction. 

Alexei positively beamed at the invitation and the impromptu nickname. 

He’d stopped walking at some point, finding himself with only Alexei at the bottom of the crosswalk stairwell where Bally's had morphed into the side of the Flamingo. They were alone. And Kent was absolutely going to hate himself for this. 

Self-control? Yeah, the biggest joke in the galaxy was that Kent ever thought he ever possessed an ounce.

He pounced on Alexei, joint balanced between his teeth as he grabbed the larger man and roughly steered him to the bend around the stairs, into a dark corner perfect for bad decisions in that shady town. He tried not to think about what other activities may have gone on in that dark corner of the world and let his focus shift elsewhere. Kent pinched the joint between his fingers as he inhaled deep, pulling it away as he pushed up on his toes to press his lips delicately against Alexei's, barely a caress as he hovered right there. He bit Alexei's lower lip gently, eliciting a gasp as he briefly licked his way inside, exactly as needed for his next trick. Hopefully Alexei caught on. With a wicked grin, he pulled back just slightly, lungs straining. Kent wound a hand into wild brown hair and gripped firm, holding Alexei in place as he finally exhaled. Alexei took in the smoke and kissed back, indulging a long moment before he absolutely needed to breathe. 

“You wanted this, right? This is what you're so desperate for,” Kent whispered against Alexei's open mouth, breath hot as Alexei said nothing. He didn’t need to. 

The joint was playfully snatched from Kent and Alexei took a turn, mimicking the previous exchange in reverse. They finished the joint that way, tucked into the corner of the strip with smoke trailing between hungry mouths and soft presses of lips with not a word to ruin anything in their shared air. The joint eventually burnt to the end. Alexei stubbed it out on the wall and let it fall to the dirty concrete. He buried his face against Kent's neck, breathing in as if there was more to smoke, more to take in and get even higher. It was intoxicating all the same, the strong cologne and soft hair against his cheek, the feeling of one of Kent's legs wedged between his own as they slid easily into messy, wet kisses and their loose limbs entwined. He poured words he couldn't string together or even dare to ask into this kiss, hoping his need and hope were somehow communicated into Kent's clouded brain. Kent whimpered and bit back, fueling Alexei's personal greediness.

Kent's phone buzzed and he jumped from where he’d been spun and wedged against the wall, pushing Alexei away roughly as he fished it out of his pocket.

“Hey. What up?” His voice sounded like he'd swallowed a handful of gravel. “Uh, we stopped to finish smoking. Where are you? Ah. Cool. We'll come over.”

Alexei ran a hand down the side of Kent's face, lingering and soothing in a way Kent definitely would have protested if he wasn’t so out of it. 

“Where are guys?” He asked as Kent tried to pat down his hair and straighten his shirt. There was nothing to be done for it. A glint of gold and a hint of ink peeked out from where Kent had snagged a button loose in their brief, indulgent debauchery. Part of him wanted to rip open the rest of the buttons and see what kind of tattoo the man had on that brilliantly broad chest but, no. Squash those thoughts. This was the last time he’d get distracted. 

Kent’s state of appearance wasn’t any better, hair sticking up messily and eyes hazy and red, mouth and jaw raw from the scrape of stubble. 

“They’re down the street a bit, stopped at the bar right inside the casino. Big fuckin’ shock, right?”

\-------------

They started off towards the Flamingo, dodging a heavily drunk guy propositioning the pair of bedazzled and feathered imposter showgirls posing for dollar bills on the street corner. An obese Elvis lingered a few paces further, with a substantially less full bucket of tips. It was both thrilling and terrifying that the typical commotion of the Strip had only been a few steps from that empty stairwell corner, raging on, never ceasing its own agenda as Kent again insisted on defying his own. 

This time as they walked, Alexei kept his hands to himself. He figured that with patience, he might be able to steal away more moments if he behaved and waited. Kent was an unreadable, unpredictable hypocrisy of an enigma and he wasn’t about to make that same mistake twice and assume they stood on common ground. Alexei was a patient man. He could wait. The weed helped to mellow his previous anxiousness for validation, that was for sure. 

They laughed easily as they walked down the sidewalk, back to the fun, surface-level carefree manner with which they'd began the adventure. It was a welcome change of pace. The night was supposed to be fun, before everything took a weird turn to shit for reasons Alexei still didn't fully understand. No use dwelling, he thought, as everything seemingly stood amicable between them at the present. 

Alexei simply wanted to know what he'd done wrong, honestly. Sure, they’d talked. But that barely explained anything. There were so many things he wanted to say, so much he wanted to ask this guy. 

He had the worst taste and the worst timing to realize thing and start to understand what he wanted. For the moment, he could pretend everything was right and latch on to this disaster of a human allowing him small tastes of a different reality. 

Stale smoke and that weird recycled perfume that resorts pumped in hit them as soon as they stepped through the open doorways and onto the casino floor. The Flamingo was a far cry from the cultivated high class of places like the Bellagio. Glaring pink and blue neon washed everything out in a sickly glow. You could almost hear the buzz of the lights as you fought your way through the crowds of people partying by the dice games. It was gaudy, dated, and loud. Exuberant retro-esque Miami from a time that never actually existed. It was one of Kent's favorite casinos on the Strip. He played the part well in his fitted white jacket and sleazy grin as they searched the floor for their fellow delinquents. 

There was a large bar at the back of the casino, where the rest of their group had taken residence. They were laughing loud (as usual that night) with drinks in hand (also par for the course). A new addition, however, was the couple joining them, absolutely giddy with excitement. Ah. The matching jerseys explained everything. The man was animatedly chatting with the guys, standing in a dark Aces jersey with PARSON emblazoned on the back (league’s best seller, thank you very much). 

“Oh! Turn around! Look who decided to finally show his face!!” Jeff called as Kent and Alexei approached. The man immediately stopped talking, dumbstruck as Kent gave a small, awkward wave. “Bout time, Parser. Pretty sure I’ve been entertaining your number one fan for the last fifteen.”

“Sup?” Kent eloquently greeted as he reached out to shake the man’s hand. The guy limply shook back, mouth slightly agape and drink spilling out as it tipped from his other hand. 

“Honey. Mark! You’re spilling,” the woman beside him barked, grabbing the drink and pulling it from his slack grip and rolling her eyes. “He’s a little… yeah. You can clearly see.”

Mark mumbled something nervous and unintelligible and grabbed the drink back, downing it in one go. 

“ _ Hell yes _ , that’s what I’m talking about, my man,” Kent added as the man beamed, totally flustered. He clapped Mark on the back and moved to get a drink at the bar. “Always great to meet a fan. Let me get you another. What’s your poison?” 

Mark just about tripped over himself as he sidled up to the bar to deal with the reality of having his favorite hockey player, the captain of his hometown team, buy him a drink and take the time to listen and talk through his excited babble. 

Kent loved his fans, he really truly did. It’s just that he was so fucking high at that moment. He could barely concentrate on the conversation.  

So high in fact, that it took him a long moment to notice that the woman who was with Mark, in the matching jersey (hers was their away whites, but with SKVORTSOV on the nameplate), was wearing a veil. Huh. A veil? You know where you wear those things? To a wedding. You know where you have a wedding in Vegas? And where were the five of them currently headed?

Interesting. Fate was really fucking weird. 

“Say, Mark. Did you two crazy kids get hitched tonight or-”

“Not yet! But we totally are! We’re getting married tonight!  _ Wooo _ !” 

Oh, fuck yeah. They’d found a woo-girl. Kent was so down with this turn of events, finally remembering the entire point of their late night journey. They’d all collectively gotten more than distracted along the way. 

“Mr. Parson, it’s so amazing and lucky that you’re here tonight. We’re getting married because of you, you know?”

“Ha, what. Really?” Mark nodded excitedly. “Why?” 

“Well, because of the Aces, actually,” the woman clarified, and introduced herself as Natalie. “We’re season ticket holders. Luckily picked seats near each other last season and here we are!”

“It was fucking fate, man! Fate! Fuck yeah, VEGAS ACES FOR LIFE! WOO!” 

He cheered, Natalie cheered. They laughed and laughed and made out at the bar as Kent and his merry band of misfits egged them on and toasted in their honor. They all cheered as the lovebirds carried on and threw back another set of offered shots. Everyone was a woo-girl now, for true love’s sake. 

“Wait, so you’re planning on doing it tonight? You’re wearing a veil for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, we were gonna head out to the chapel in the gardens out back. By the pool.”

Mark pointed out his bowtie, looking awfully damn proud of the stupid thing, and Scraps gave him a big cheesy thumbs up. 

“The chapel by the pool? Nah. You guys deserve a classic.”

Ivan, shockingly, was the first of the group to catch on to what Kent was implying. 

“Graceland! We take you to Graceland chapel. Is best one in town.”

It was decided. To Graceland. Finally. 

After a call to the concierge and another celebratory round of shots, the group headed out to the pick-up area to meet their limousine that was set to drive them to the Graceland Wedding Chapel, located on the beginnings of downtown Vegas. It was loaded with bottles of champagne and a waiting sunroof for would-be party-goers to stand through and announce their presence to the entirety of the city. Natalie leaned through it, with arms spread wide and veil fluttering in the night air, lights bouncing off the roof of the limo. She was radiant, living in a moment that was so unbelievably lucky. There was no other place in the world quite like this. 

Mark soaked up the rowdy fever dream that was the reality of sharing bubbly with five NHLers on the night of his wedding. They all took sloppy selfies together and argued over who was going to be the best man. It was only appropriate that one of the Aces players earn the great honor, after all, so Kent, Scraps, and Swoops argued their cases while the Strip sped by. Alexei played judge as they pleaded, throwing out stats and personal promises to the sheer delight of a punch drunk Mark. 

“Mark, MARK! My boy. Let me be the best man and I’ll send you wherever you want for the honeymoon. I’ll fuckin’ do it, name the place. Somewhere tropical?”

“Next year season tickets on me, I give you hook-ups,” Scraps countered.

“Are you kidding? You’ll never pay for a game again. I got you, I fuckin’ got you guys!” Kent countered. “Small fuckin’ price for the greatest couple of the century.” 

Natalie ducked her head back in to give her two-cents. “Hon, so how many best men are you allowed? Can we call it a tie and get all that shit?”

The limo finally rolled up to the chapel and the guys unloaded in a mess of long-limbed, stumbling glory. Mark swooped Natalie up and proudly strode into the chapel with his hockey squad trailing behind. Alexei was still carrying one of the champagne bottles in one hand, while holding up his phone in the other, livestreaming the whole thing to whatever app he was favoring at the moment. Unbeknownst to them, the internet centered around a certain sport was going wild watching everything unfold. 

The next day (or, rather, later in the daylight hours) would be intriguing to look back on concerning the path of destruction Alexei had raked across various social media platforms. It was going to be simultaneously a good laugh, an embarrassing oversight, and a probable conversation with PR. Stories were already being composed by the late night bloggers creeping on player’s social media for any hint of a story. These five idiot boys were doing all the work for them. 

Mark and Natalie began their vows while Kent stood as the best man (typical, he won everything else), and five phones simultaneously rang out a tinny 8-bit version of  _ Oops, I Did it Again _ . They’d chosen correctly - Graceland was the correct chapel. 

The newlyweds kissed and the guys cheered for more than one reason. All five of the guys signed their names as witnesses on the marriage certificate and posed for a group photo. Kent exchanged information with the blissfully wed couple, intent to follow through with his promise of at some sort of wedding gift. They’d chat later. He liked them. They were good people. Kent arranged an Uber to take them to wherever they were headed next to continue their big night, happy for the pair but ready to move on to their next destination without continuing their countless side-quests. Time to get back on track. Scraps prompted the group to gather round as he read out the next clue. 

_ “Double the name, double the fun. Don’t stand there watching - meet at the old bar that spun.”  _

A beat of silence, and then they all started talking over each other as they stood by the curb outside the chapel. 

“Double the name... Oh, this I know!” Scraps beamed, feeling clever. 

“Yeah, no shit. It’s New York, New York.”

“Also is Circus Circus. Two names,” Alexei nodded at Scraps, giving him the credit for starting them off. 

“That makes more sense,” Kent agreed. “ _ Circus _ ?  _ Britney _ ? Fuckin’ obvious.”

Snowy scoffed, “Obvious is the key there, dumb fuck. It’s gotta be the other place.  _ Too _ obvious.”

“Britney loves a theme! Logic doesn’t matter!” Jeff argued back. 

“Before we keep screaming, maybe think about other part? What is bar that spun?”

They all actually quieted down for a moment and thought it over without shouting, heeding Alexei’s advice. Suddenly, Snowy clapped his hands and hummed, making the smuggest face known to man. 

“You got it?” Jeff asked. 

“I do. I do. None of you will ever get it. You’ll never guess.”

“Well too bad we don’t know someone who can tell us! Fuck!”

“Just fucking tell us, we’re on limited time,” Kent pleaded, annoyed. 

His expression was less than impressed, “Shut the fuck up, are you kidding me?  _ Limited time _ ? All our garbage distractions tonight and my few brief minutes of gloating means the end of the world? Unbelievable.”

“Yay, you’re so smart! So much smarter than all of us!” Kent mocked. “Just tell us, man.”

“Ugh, fine. Have none of you seen  _ Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas _ ?” 

“I’ve heard of that!” Jeff added. 

“Cool. Very helpful. I’ve heard of lots of shit,” he added, as deadpan and detached as ever. Kent really had to restrain himself from decking the asshole. Jeff groaned loud, deep voice echoing as he threw his hands up in frustration. 

“We get it! You’re pretentious and sooo much more cultured than us! Groundbreaking!” 

“Fine,” Snowy relented. “There was this really great carousel bar in Circus Circus and it was featured in a scene in that movie. The main characters take like, a bunch of drugs among other things and the film shows this really intense extended acid trip as they walk through the casino. It’s kind of brilliant, actually.”

“Great. Sounds fun. Anyone have any acid? What about you, Cheech? Got anything other than pot in your little drug horde?”

“Nope. Just some choice bud. Speaking of which,” he pulled out yet another joint and lit up, offering it to the group.

_ No fucking thanks _ , thought Kent. He was still riding that buzz and it had all gotten way too out of hand when he’d indulged earlier. Alexei eyed him carefully, seeing what his move was going to be concerning the offer. When Kent declined, he did the same. Snowy shrugged and smoked it himself, content to keep it for his solo enjoyment. They all stood and waited as Snowy smoked under the dated neon chapel sign, looking all the part of a man lost in time. He would have done well in the sixties, perhaps. 

Jeff had disappeared a few minutes earlier when the lighter had been pulled out , returning now with a splitting grin that looked way too excited, way too worrying. He was the embodiment of trouble. 

“The limo driver was on break and didn’t leave yet. Who’s in for riding to that shitty clown casino in style?”

\-------------

 

The five of them piled back into the gaudy white limo, totally fine with not having to walk all the way half across town again. The stip was huge, it was getting way up there in hour, and they were strung out and exhausted. Also, there was more champagne in the limo, which they were all very pleased to discover. God forbid any shred of sobriety weaseled its way back to any of them. 

“You know what would have been hysterical?” Jeff laughed through a large swig of champagne. “If the chapel for the scavenger hunt turned out to be the Taco Bell chapel. I mean, if the Elvis part was gone from the clue.”

“The… what?” Snowy actually, physically froze at that, turning his head slowly in confused horror towards Jeff. “Say that again.” 

“The Taco Bell chapel!”

“I’m preemptively disgusted. Elaborate?” 

“Like. It’s the fuckin’ Taco Bell chapel? You can get married at the Taco Bell on the Strip. That’s it. That’s what it is. It’s incredible.”

Multiple expressions ranging from horror to intrigue to disgust passed over Snowy’s usually mildly disdainful face. 

“You're not joking, this is real?” He sighed, reaching for one of the bottles to appease his heavy heart. Vegas. What the hell?

“It is real, my friend. This town so full of wonder,” Scraps mused.

“To make the reality even sweeter, they serve you Baja Blast in fuckin’ champagne flutes,” Kent joked. Only, it wasn’t really a joke. “I’m not kidding.”

Snowy pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “This fucking city…”

They all passed the bottle around, opening a second when the contents of the first quickly emptied. 

It was nice to be off the streets and safely tucked away in the limo, still on their original journey but with a moment to collectively catch their breaths. Even as laughter and general shouting contradicted the sentiment of peace, they were finally back in tandem, all together in this strange, wild ride they'd undertaken. Here they all sat, in the throes of joy as they idled in late night traffic on the Vegas Strip in pursuit of ridiculous goals. Poetic, almost, if not for the sticky floors and stale smell of marijuana clinging to the air as car horns blared outside. 

Calm and mayhem in contradictory synchronization. He was a creature of contradictions, a guy who didn’t know what he really, actually wanted. Nothing made sense anymore - this night or his own mind or his own rules. Madness. Intolerable reflections in those moments where nothing was distracting him. Kent tipped again, into something too far gone to stop. 

Before anyone else could stop him either, and with a deep breath before the plunge, Kent blurted, “Hey. So I can trust you guys, right?”

Scraps nodded like it was ridiculous he was even being asked as Snowy breathed out  _ sure, man _ through a cloud of smoke. Alexei kept a curious but neutral face despite the way his heart rate picked up substantially at the statement. 

“Yeah, Parse. Of course?” Jeff’s skepticism reared its head yet again, nearly sensing what may follow. 

Kent grinned wide and shrugged. “Just checkin’. Nothing you see or hear leaves this limo, yeah?”

“Let the good times roll, captain asshat,” Snowy toasted with a tip of his blunt in Kent’s direction. 

And with that, he decided it was time to apologize to Alexei properly for treating him like shit all night. Time to stop casting him off like an afterthought. This was fine. He was drunk and with his friends. Nothing could hurt him in the naivety of it all. His personal hang-ups notwithstanding, surely he could convince Alexei to throw down with anyone in the limo who decided this was Not Going to Be Ok. Fuck it. To be drunk and riding high in Las Vegas. Fuck the consequences, he’ll face them when his world stopped spinning. 

In momentary hesitation after his small announcement, the others returned to pounding back champagne and taking turns leaning up and out the sunroof, yelling at people walking on the Strip. They weren’t even paying him any attention. Kent made up his mind. Yeah, this was happening. 

Alexei’s earlier words were echoing back to him.  _ Brave _ . Brave might not be the right word for his current mindset, as reckless and wasted were far more accurate, but it echoed all the same. 

Something had come over Kent at the prospect of being hidden, out of the eyes of the world behind tinted glass and with liquor flowing. It mixed oddly with the drug-addled waves still shifting around his veins, eyes fading in and out as the world spun in a blur. It was like there was some severance between his body and his brain. Alexei was pressed against him at the thigh, hot and solid and begging for a hand to grip. So he did, before the smart person section of his brain could send a halting signal to his wandering hand. His stupid traitor hand slid high on Alexei’s thigh with a sloppy, embarrassing hiccup of a giggle punctuating the motion. Alexei jolted in surprise where he sat, brows raising as Kent continued laughing softly with his face pressed into the large shoulder so comfortable and close to his too-warm face. 

Alexei turned towards the man rubbing like a drunken cat against his arm. There Kent went again, hot-and-cold. Making out with him in clubs and then screaming at him on the street. Pushing him away with unfiltered disgust in his eyes, and then feeling him up in the backseat of a limo with three of their friends in sight. Whatever. He’d also face the consequences after the fact and take the anger later, prepared to face down another inevitable mood swing. Fuck it. When was the chance going to literally land in his lap so soon again? 

“Are you good? Drinking so much, so fast,” he cooed in a gentle voice, bringing a hand up to brush away the hair sticking to Kent’s forehead. He loved that golden mop of hair, so soft beneath his fingers and wild when he shoved it back. 

“Have a drink,” Kent held up the bottle. Alexei took a swig and then passed the bottle off to whoever was sitting across from them. He didn’t look, not wanting to take his eyes off Kent for a second, so eager to catch his next move, savor any brief moment he was being awarded in the present. 

He pressed his face against Kent’s neck, breathing in that wonderful scent of cologne he wore. He’d have to find out what brand it was so he could buy a bottle and torture himself with memories of this night and feel utterly pathetic and weird after the fact. Whatever. He was so beyond analyzing any of it. Just breathe. He pressed a gentle kiss under Kent’s ear and felt the shudder move through the man sliding his hand further between his thighs with the most delicious little moan. 

“ _ What the fuck _ -” Snowy spat at the sight of Kent sliding confidently into Alexei's lap, receiving Scrap’s large hand promptly slapping over his mouth. 

“Sshh. Have drink. Let them be. Look away.” Scraps squinted at the situation in front of them all, wary but shaking his head and not saying anything more. 

Snowy mumbled in protest, prying the hand away and instantly taking a huge gulp of champagne. There were so many things he wanted to say, to fight. He only watched on in shocked, mildly intrigued fascination, biding his time. They’d all have to leave the vehicle eventually. 

Jeff positioned himself away from the two and completely ignored it, well, attempted to ignore. His face reddened at the sounds his captain was making, but he swore he wasn't going to interfere with Kent's choices the rest of the night, this drastic action included. He’d promised. It wasn’t the first time he'd seen the guy suck face with a dude, but the situation was so, so different than some anonymous club in West Hollywood during the off-season. Jeff stared out the dark window and kept his mouth shut firm. 

Back in their crowded bubble of lust and impulse, Alexei was muttering a steady stream of far too honest thoughts to be shared in understandable English into Kent's ear as the other bit at the soft skin under his jaw. His words were both endearingly hopeful and so fucking filthy. 

Poor Scraps. He could only take so much, feeling it unfair that he was the only other person in the vehicle being subject to Alexei's sappy, depraved bullshit. 

“ _ Are you kidding me with this, boy? Your seduction methods leave something to be desired, my God. This is how you talk to people? Oy.”  _

_ “Shut up, old man. Who's the one getting some right now, yeah?”  _ Alexei answered, chuckling low at the scandalized look on Scraps’ face. He slid one hand into the messy gold strands and the other down to pull their hips even closer together as Kent tried to subtly snake a hand downward between them. 

“Ugh, ok. No. Make out as much as you depraved assholes want but I'm begging you, no,  _ imploring you _ , please don't fuck in this limo. Please,” Snowy begged. 

“You just jealous,” Alexei said as Kent turned and blew him a kiss with a wink. He was pulled back against Alexei by the collar of his shirt, laugh getting lost against the insistent mouth against his. 

“Oh, you bagged a catch. For sure.” Eye rolls and a sneer. “I mean, I know you’re fuckin’ desperate, but  _ this guy _ ? Really? Come, on. And I didn’t even know you were into dudes, Tater. So, uh, about that-”

“Maybe we talk later, yeah?” Alexei said, breathless. He added with a teasing waggle of his bushy eyebrows, “Unless you want join?” 

“Ew,” Kent added, almost immediately. “What am I, pathetic? There’s no fucking way I’d lower myself to  _ that _ level.”

“Speak for yourself, fuckwit. Degenerate, overrated, diva forwards with the mental capacity of a bottom-barrel sorority girl are so not my type. Anyway, if you inconsiderate, hormonal freaks hadn't pulled me from that stupid club earlier, I'd probably be balls deep in some Amazonian bottle girl goddess right now, one of the only things of beauty in this delusional town. But no. I have to watch you two bumblefucks go at it like fucking Caligula.”

“Holy shit, do you ever stop fucking ranting? Jesus, man,” Jeff finally pleaded. “I’m so tired.”

Neither of of the two dignified acknowledging yet another classic Snowy rant. Kent flipped him the finger and drew Alexei's mouth back to his, tongue put to better use sliding against Alexei's than arguing.

No one had acted out in pure outraged, or said anything entirely, unforgivingly derogatory yet, to both of their relief. Yet. They continued to push their moment of luck, happy to kiss and touch in the dim darkness of the limo with distant hopes of talking their way out of repercussions once they arrived at the casino. For now, they indulged. 

“Oh my God, could you maybe make less noise? I can ignore you drunk exhibitionist sluts if I stare out the window but fucking hell,  _ stop _ it.” 

Kent moaned theatrically at the comment to everyone's immediate frustration and instant groans of displeasure. He pulled back with a wince, grinning at Alexei with slight embarrassment.

“Sorry. That was actually a little gross,” he admitted, cringing. “Bit much.” 

“Eh, good kind of gross. So good,” Alexei whispered. He trailed a hand gently down the curve of Kent's face, cupping his jaw. He rested his forehead against Kent's as he attempted to catch his breath, eyes soft to match his smile. Alexei was unfortunately, stupidly,  _ dangerously _ too far gone. 

“Hey, now. Don’t go falling in love with me just because I blew you in the Bellagio,” Kent muttered, lips brushing as he said it with a smug laugh. He kissed back soft now, not so desperate and unashamed as they’d been. 

Jeff finally turned towards them with a yell. “ _ Oh! Really? _ I knew it! I fucking knew something happened with you two back there.” 

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a big winner,” Kent mocked in between soft presses of lips to Alexei’s smiling face. “Lucky guess, bro.”

“Me too. I am have very lucky night,” Alexei mused as they both calmed down, less frantic now that the group was actively insistent on chatting and interrupting their lustful dalliences.

The limo jolted to a stop in front of the casino entrance. Their fun was over, the hidden world was departing. Thousands of bright lights blinked above, arching overhead the entrance to the clownish nightmare casino awaiting them. With slightly awkward, slightly embarrassed looks passed around the limo, the guys pulled themselves off champagne dampened seats and off of laps they had been seated in so boldly. 

“Don’t say anything!” Kent blurted in a frantic panic as soon as they’d all exited. “Don’t - just forget about it.”

He was tired, scared, manic and high, and completely didn’t know what he was doing. Still didn’t. Never did. He’d completely lost the cool collectedness and all the contrived pieces of himself he was sometimes good at managing. Gone. It was the major theme of the night. Everyone stared, waiting on the edge of their teeth for the first to speak up, call him out, call Kent on his bullshit and question what the fuck just happened in that limousine. 

“Kent-” Alexei started. He was shushed instantly. “Ok. I am used to weird Kent Parson moods. Everyone forget everything! Ok, is gone? So easy. Let’s go.” 

Alexei hadn’t been expecting much more than what he’d been given, with having to face reality anew again, but he wasn’t about to stick around and grovel and make an ass out of himself like the last time. 

He straightened his jacket and headed for the casino doors, followed in turn by Ivan and Jeff. The latter planned on having words with Kent as soon as he could steal his captain - his friend - away. Somewhere quiet where they could talk and avoid another round of the Kent show. But not here, not this casino. Let him worry and simmer after finally pushing his reckless, base level decisions over the limit. Jeff spared a glance back where Snow was blocking Kent’s path and felt no sense of needing to bail him out, run to his defense. Should be interesting, but he was not about to linger and find out what the world’s angriest goalie had to say to the fastest man in the league. 

Kent wanted to immediately bolt but there was no avoiding the freeze in his legs as icy eyes fixed on his own. His fingers twitched. This was familiar, this was his fortee. Escape. Get away with it. Get out of bad calls on the ice and bad calls in reality. He was fast, but Snowy was just as proficient in his own way. With a split second shift of his feet, he darted in an attempted dash to the side and down the street, he ran. Snowy chased with reactionary reflexes. Kent had taken a handful of impressive strides down the sidewalk, arms flailing in his desperate escape and a strangled shriek as he felt fast hands latch onto the back of his jacket. If only he’d been in the rink on skates and not there in his pretentious high fashion shoes, Kent would have made it to the street by then, instead of dragging Snow with him in his last attempt at wrenching away, free. He stumbled, taking the full force of Snowy’s lunging grab with him, both falling into the short hedges along the path. 

In a tangle of limbs, Snowy flipped them around, both grunting and cursing at one another all the while. Kent kicked his legs out, attempting to hit anything - hopefully that smug, scruffy face. Snow fought dirty, yanking a handful of hair as Kent yelped and spat vulgarities, unpinned hand slapping against the side of the other’s head. He wasn’t a great fighter, the entire league knew that. People walked by them, barely batting an eye. Nothing out of the ordinary. Vegas loved a drunk. 

“Shut the fuck up and stop fighting me, shitstain. Listen!” He pulled Kent up by his collar and covered his mouth with his free hand. “Shut your goddamn mouth and listen to me without your bullshit interrupting, yeah?” 

Kent pushed back, swatting at Snowy’s head once more and arguing against the hand on his mouth. He bit down and Scott released his hold. 

“Ow! Fuck. Asshole. Ugh, stop. We need to talk.” 

“Yeah! Fucking fine! We can talk. Why’d you fucking attack me?!”

Snow shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Why’d you run?”

“I don’t know but can you stop straddling me? Little weird concerning… yeah.”

“Right.” 

He shifted back, but remained sitting in the middle of the bushes. Kent made no move to get up either. 

There they sat: two star athletes in their late twenties, wearing designer suits, and drunk off their asses in the foliage outside Circus Circus, the shittiest casino on the Vegas Strip. Those lights on the massive canopy above kept on blinking and watching, the eyes of the city. All that glitters. 

“So? Talk.”

Snowy leaned forward, nose almost touching Kent’s, with a cold expression to match his grave tone. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with Tater?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got damn i miss las vegas :/ 
> 
> just looked at my last update and... APRIL?? APRIL! dang yo

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [acesvegas](http://www.acesvegas.tumblr.com)


End file.
